The Runaway
by artemiskat
Summary: Tristan Amell has yet to return to Vigil's Keep. In fact, he has decided to run away from his duties. When a stranger turns up at the Keep, Melisende Cousland becomes worried, and sets out to find her friend and Commander. **third story in a series**
1. Chapter 1

_Note: If you have not already read "Redemption: an Awakening Tale" or "Secrets of the Hunt", in that order too, then you might be a little lost reading this story. I would recommend you read them first, or at least, "Secrets of the Hunt" because that ties in more to this story than the first. _

Chapter 1

The rain pounded heavily onto the ground, sending drops of water back into the air for a short while before they inevitably fell back to the muddy path. Thunder pounded the sky overhead and a flash of lightning illuminated the night sky for a swift second. The silhouette of Vigil's Keep stood ominously in the not so far off distance. Ronan let out a huge sigh of relief at the sighting. He was cold, wet, and had nearly been robbed several times already as he made his way north. As he patted his wolf, Ash, on the head, he once again cursed the errand he was sent upon.

"We're almost there, boy." Ronan reassured Ash, who was also wet. Ash's normally white legs were splattered with mud. As if in reply, Ash looked up at Ronan for a quick second and then set off in a trot in front of him. "Vigil's Keep."

Ronan sighed. He deeply resented being sent on this errand by his father, Keeper Silas. His mother, Siofra, was quite ill. For two weeks she had sat aloof from the clan, withdrawn and weary looking. Then, a few days ago, she couldn't arise from her _aravel_; she was too weak and coughed up blood. As Ronan sat by his mother's side, his father had taken him aside and told him, no commanded him, to fetch the Grey Warden Commander. Ronan had flinched. He hated the man, Tristan. Silas had said that only the Warden could help Siofra, that only Tristan had the magic to help her. No, it wasn't Tristan's magic that would help her; Ronan knew the real reason that Silas wanted the Commander there.

They thought he knew nothing. Ronan expected that they would have at least told him the truth of the matter, but they hadn't. That only increased his fury as he travelled north. He kicked at the mud path in frustration.

When the Grey Warden Commander had visited the clan at Siofra's request, Ronan had been puzzled and angry. Tristan had made him look like a fool in front of the others. Whatever did his mother want with him? And then she had shooed Ronan away for privacy. Well, Ronan never did give them privacy. He eavesdropped on them and found out why his mother had so much interest in the Grey Warden; Tristan was her son. Feeling like he had been stabbed in the back, Ronan had nearly burst out of the shadows then and there to confront his mother. But he hadn't. He watched quietly as Tristan politely bid farewell to Siofra. It was obvious to Ronan that Tristan didn't believe his mother's story. However, Ronan knew his mother. She didn't make up stories, and this story was too detailed to be something she made up on a whim. As much as he wanted her to be out of her mind, for he didn't want to believe that he was related to that _shem'lin_, Ronan knew that his mother's story was true. And now he was sent to fetch Tristan as his father's last hope for his mother.

Yes, Ronan was angry, furious that his father had sent him like a fool to fetch Tristan, without even telling him the real reason; that Siofra only wanted to again see her son by another man, a _shem_ no less, and the gods forbid, perhaps for one last time. What did his father expect of him? Surely Silas thought that Ronan was in the dark about Siofra's son, so why did he think Tristan would listen to him? The gods knew Tristan and Ronan had no love for each other. But Ronan loved his mother and would do anything for her to get better. That was perhaps, what Silas was counting on. Ronan only wished that his father would have been honest with him.

Tristan would be wise to do as Ronan said, for this time there would be nobody to come between them. Ronan was sure he could take Tristan in a fight, and if he had to drag him back to his, no _their_ mother, beaten and injured, then so be it. He wasn't going to let the fool be the downfall of that loving and caring woman. No way.

Lost in his thoughts, Ronan quickly made it to the Keep's gates. Ash, wary of humans, had sauntered off to the wilds, giving Ronan a quick nudge on the legs and a short howl before leaving his side. The guards at the gates were startled by the howl and quickly drew their crossbows in Ronan's direction.

"Who's there?" one of the guards shouted from atop the gates. Ronan lifted his arms up in the air to show that he was unarmed. Well, that wasn't actually the case. Ronan had his sword and shield hidden underneath his cloak. It was a gesture mostly to show that he came in peace. As the large torches illuminated his face, the guards seemed to relax a little.

"Are you Dalish?" the younger guard questioned Ronan, squinting at the tattoos on Ronan's face. Ronan nodded.

"What is your purpose here?" the elderly guard inquired of Ronan as he sidled up even closer to the gate.

"I need to speak with the Grey Wardens." Ronan replied.

"Don't we all." The guard replied with amusement. Ronan glared at him.

"Are you going to let me in, or not?" he demanded of the guards.

The guards scrutinized Ronan carefully and looked at each other in silent agreement. "What's the password?"

Ronan shook his head in amazement. They were toying with him. There was no password. They had no reason not to let him in. "Is it, 'you're a bunch of _halla_ turds'?"

The guards chuckled.

"Well, are you going to let me in?" Ronan asked once again, impatiently.

"We'd like to, but we are not allowed to let strangers into the Keep in the middle of the night." The elderly guard explained. Ronan glared at him fiercely. The guard quickly looked away. "Come back tomorrow morning…"

Ronan turned around in frustration. The rain continued to batter him. He was soaked and cold._ What a bunch of jerks_, he thought as he made his way back on the path he had come from. Well, he wasn't going to wait for tomorrow. He didn't have the luxury of time, not with his mother so sick. Once he was enveloped in the darkness, he crept stealthily back to the walls of the Keep. Searching the walls carefully with his hands, he felt for any possible footholds. It was hard; the walls were very nicely maintained. They looked recently repaired, in fact.

However, he noticed with glee a large tree standing not so far away from the wall. The _shems_ may have built a nice wall, but they had neglected to cut down that tree, leaning ever so close to the wall. It would make a natural ladder. He made his way toward it and climbed up on the branches, nearly slipping from the slippery limbs. Once he made it to the top, he leaped onto the Keep's wall. Luckily, he didn't slip. He carefully sidled over the wall, and landed on a rooftop. He was in the village. Gathering the Keep into his view, he began making his way toward the large building.

Ronan grinned triumphantly towards the guards, who had no idea that he had made it in despite their objections and continued towards the Keep, in a hurry to get out of the rain and the cold. Though he had to admit, he was also dreading entering into such a huge building filled with _shem'lins_, _durgen'len_, and flat-ears.

…

"Drink, drink, drink…" the soldiers of the Keep chanted as a woman with long brown hair, a man with a blonde ponytail, and a red-headed dwarf all chugged down a pitcher of ale. After entering the Keep and getting lost for a while in the long, dimly lit corridors, Ronan had finally stumbled across this large gathering of soldiers and Grey Wardens in the Keep's dining hall. He watched with contempt as the dwarf drank pitcher after pitcher. The woman kept up steadily for a little while, but then stopped, gagging on the ale. The soldiers behind her patted her on the back and jested with her as she wiped her face and bowed out of the contest. The man in the ponytail was drinking slowly, a smirk on his face as the dwarf kept chugging. He didn't seem too intent on trying to win the contest.

Ronan crept quietly around the back of the hall. He gazed around him, trying to catch a glimpse of Tristan. He couldn't see him anywhere. He tried to pinpoint a Grey Warden, but he found it quite hard. They all looked the same, like drunken warriors. Frustrated, he decided to search elsewhere. As he turned to exit from whence he came, he bumped into someone. He was about to open his mouth to curse the person when he glimpsed her face. He was surprised to find that he had nearly knocked over a Dalish woman. He had never expected to run into another Dalish at the Keep.

"Apologies," Ronan muttered.

The Dalish woman scrutinized Ronan closely, a look of suspicion overcoming her face. "Who are you?" she asked finally.

Ronan stared back at her. She was older than him, he thought as he noticed a few soft lines at the edges of her eyes, crinkled up into a puzzled frown. She had blonde hair pulled up and back. She wore a curious outfit with fur trim on the shoulders and a piece of cloth that passed for a dress of sorts. He glanced quickly at the plunging neckline. The Dalish woman gently knocked Ronan's gaze back to eye level with a wooden staff. So, she was a mage, he thought as he rubbed his neck where the staff had hit him lightly. He grinned at her. "I am Ronan."

"Tell me, Ronan, what are you doing here?" the woman questioned him further. Ronan moved to leave the room, she blocked his way.

"I was just leaving actually…"

"Really? It looks to me as if you were looking for someone."

"I was, but they are not here. Let me through." Ronan challenged the woman with his gaze. She stared back at him without hesitation. "Who are you to block my path?"

She laughed out loud. "You look and act the grown up, but, my, what a child you are still. Go then, if you insist." She moved aside and waved Ronan through the doorway. Ronan hesitated. He was insulted that she would call him a child. Who was she? He was tempted to give her a piece of his mind, but she was a fellow Dalish. She might be the only one that could help him without patronizing him. Perhaps he should ask her for help.

"Wait, I told you who I am, now tell me who you are." Ronan demanded. The soldiers in the room reached a fever pitch as the dwarf continued chugging ale. Anything the Dalish woman would say would be drowned out from the noise, so Ronan grabbed her by the arm and yanked her out of the room. Once out in the dark hallway she shoved him away and gave him a furious look.

"Who do you think you are?" she hissed at him.

Ronan was getting terribly impatient now. Why was she getting so angry with him? Back home women practically threw themselves at him and begged to be handled roughly by him. What was her problem, anyway? "I need your help woman."

The Dalish woman snorted in disgust. "You need a thrashing. Did your mother not teach you how to handle and treat a woman?"

Ronan flinched at her comment. "My mother is the reason I am here." Ronan replied sorrowfully. He glanced with disgust at the room of rowdy soldiers. "Believe me, I wouldn't be here if it weren't for her sake."

The Dalish woman considered him for a second. She was inexplicably drawn to his blue eyes. They glowed with a strange familiarity in the torchlight. "Very well then, I am Velanna."

"Velanna…" Ronan thought of his mother. She would be very cross with him for being so rude to Velanna. He swallowed his pride. "I am sorry. I meant no disrespect."

Velanna only nodded her head in acknowledgement. "So who are you looking for?"

"The Warden Commander, Tristan." Ronan replied with slight contempt.

"The Commander is not here." Velanna stated.

"What do you mean, he's not here?" Ronan asked incredulously. "Where is he?"

"He hasn't been here all summer." Velanna replied, watching Ronan with curiousity as he began pacing back and forth in frustration, leaving a trail of mud on the floor. "We have yet to get word from him."

"He should have been back by now…" Ronan muttered to himself.

"You have seen him?" Velanna asked, puzzled.

Ronan stopped pacing and turned to look at Velanna. "If he isn't here, then who is in charge?"

Velanna pointed to the drinking contest in the other room. "He left Anders in charge, but all the Wardens are sharing in the duties."

"By the gods." Ronan cursed out loud. Those imbeciles were in charge? How was he going to find Tristan? He didn't have the luxury of time. "He sent no word at all on his whereabouts?"

Velanna shook her head. "No, you haven't answered me. Have you seen him?"

Ronan laughed sarcastically. "Oh yes, I saw him alright… where can that jerk be?"

"Hey. You have no right to speak of the Commander like that." Velanna scolded him.

Ronan looked at Velanna with fury in his eyes. "Bring this Anders to me."

Velanna was outraged at the lack of courtesy from this lout. However, something in his manner made her do as he said. They had all wondered at Tristan's whereabouts, but they hadn't worried much. He was, after all, capable of handling himself. But now, Velanna had to wonder, maybe there was cause for worry. The way that Ronan spoke of Tristan, the urgency and panic in his voice when the young elf had realized that Tristan should have been at the Keep by now… well, it sent a twinge of anxiety to her stomach.

…

"I'm sorry, but I don't know what else to tell you." Anders said apologetically to Ronan a few minutes later in a small room. "We haven't heard from the Commander for a while now. We assume he is still on his search."

"That's the thing," Ronan cut in, "he isn't searching for that woman anymore. He found her."

Anders looked at Velanna in surprise, shrugged, and then turned back to Ronan. "Then if what you say is true, why hasn't he come back yet?"

"Damned if I know. I thought he would be here by now." Ronan replied, his frustration and impatience growing. Did they really know nothing about their Commander? What kind of operation was this? What kind of lousy commander was Tristan?

The woman with long brown hair who had taken part in the drinking contest came barging into the room, the door slamming into the wall behind her. She trudged in loudly and stopped before them all, a little breathless. "Sigrun told me somebody has news of Tristan?" she asked. She focused on Ronan, looking him up and down. Ronan stared back at her, a lurid glare covering his face.

"Mel, this is Ronan." Anders said, gesturing toward Ronan. "Ronan, this is Melisende."

"A pleasure to meet you, Ronan." Melisende held out her hand in greeting to Ronan. Shocked at the politeness colliding with the image of this woman he had in his head since he saw her drinking and carousing like a rough soldier, Ronan was left speechless. He reluctantly took her hand in his own in a shake.

"I was just about to ask Ronan how exactly he knows Tristan…" Anders continued.

"I don't _know_ Tristan." Ronan quickly corrected Anders. He wasn't quite sure what he was doing anymore. He had to find Tristan, but he wasn't here and his Wardens seemed to think that Ronan was more up to date than they were. He decided to explain himself, though he would not tell them the whole truth. They didn't need to know he was Tristan's brother, not if Ronan himself was not supposed to know. "Tristan, the Commander, ran into my clan while searching for that woman. After he found her, he returned to my clan on my mother's request. Then he left. That was about three weeks ago."

"Why did your mother want to see Tristan?" Melisende asked Ronan.

"I was not privy to her reasons." Ronan stiffly replied. The Wardens looked at him curiously. Melisende had a pouty, thoughtful look. Ronan had to admit, she looked cute for a _shem_. He wondered if she was a Grey Warden. She looked to be around the same age as himself. She seemed very interested in Tristan, why?

"So… why now, did you want to meet with the Commander?" Melisende questioned him, arching her brow in suspicion.

"My mother is ill. My father sent me to ask the Commander for help." Ronan replied. Melisende continued to regard him with mistrust. Ronan could care less. He sighed with impatience. He turned to Velanna. "Well, is anyone going to point me in his possible direction?"

"That depends…" Melisende walked closer to Ronan, getting in his face. She looked into his eyes and then quickly shied away. Ronan lowered his gaze. His eyes, they were the same as his mother's, the same as Tristan's. She had probably been surprised. They were a unique blue among his clan and they must be unique among _shems_ as well. Melisende continued, "Can we trust you?"

Velanna drew in her breath in exasperation. "Melisende, not everybody is an assassin."

Melisende drew back in surprise, a hurt look on her face. Anders quickly interceded. "Ladies, please. As much as I would like to help him, we don't even know where Tristan could be."

"Perhaps you could try going to Denerim. King Alistair may have news. He was, after all, the one that sent news of Morrigan to Tristan." Velanna suggested.

Ronan sighed. "I don't have the time to go chasing leads. And why would King Alistair talk to me?"

"Because I will go with you." Melisende spoke up. Ronan looked at her askance.

"You?" he questioned as he looked her up and down.

"Tristan is not only my Commander, he is my friend. I am worried about him." Melisende replied. Anders put a hand on her shoulder.

"Do what you have to, Mel. If I could go, I would." Anders said apologetically.

"Let's go then." Ronan said. He wasn't pleased that his errand was turning out this way. It was supposed to have been a fetch and return task. Now he was going to have to travel to a large city, where everyone would stare at him. He didn't particularly like the idea of the _shem _woman following him either, but if it helped him find his blasted brother, then he would do it. His father and more importantly, his mother were depending on him. "I don't have the time to stand around and do nothing."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The tide undulated to and fro on the shore, a gentle and serene movement that both entranced and frustrated Tristan. The color of the cold Frozen Seas fascinated him. On the other hand, he was disappointed. The great expanse of water was like any other ocean. He supposed however, that it was just him. He was weary and he was taking it out on the wondrous sight of nature before him. How could something so beautiful be so disappointing? How could somebody have done something so incredible yet feel so lost? How could things have fallen apart so quickly and with such a sense of finality? He was hopeless, and he couldn't explain why. He had everything, yet he had nothing.

As Tristan watched the waves rolling in and out of the beach he contemplated how he had gotten there. After his meeting with Morrigan, he had gone to visit with the Dalish woman, Siofra, as he had promised. What she told him he still couldn't quite believe. He still couldn't wrap his head around it. It was something he had never wondered about, had never really longed for, for what purpose was there in longing for something you never had a taste of? She had told him that she was his mother and that his father had been a mage in the Circle Tower. An escaped mage, killed by Templars. The story sounded outrageous, for wouldn't he, having lived in the Circle for most of his youth, have at least heard of his supposed father? In any case, he hadn't really said anything to the woman. He had politely excused himself and left. He didn't know what she wanted, or what she expected. If she was telling the truth and she was his mother, then what was he supposed to do? Take up residence in the Dalish camp? He had left. Maybe he was a jerk. It seemed that was all he was good at being these days.

Before he had been recruited by the Grey Wardens, Tristan had been content with living out his days at the Circle Tower. Sure, it was not the happiest place to live, but after spending some time in an orphanage and on the streets in Denerim, it was a warm place to stay and at least the food was plentiful and good. He had never been ambitious. He never asked for glory or admiration. But that had all come when he became a Grey Warden and when the Blight cast Ferelden into some of its darkest days. He had to admit, he had reveled in the adventure and the sense of urgency. He had embraced becoming a leader. That was a surprise to him. But now, with everything seemingly back to normal, he felt… dissatisfied. He needed to be alone, at least for a little while.

Tristan had been on his way back to the Keep when he had suddenly panicked. He couldn't go back. He didn't want to go back. As much as he missed his friends and comrades, he suddenly felt stifled. He couldn't go back to the drudgery of routine, the constant begged favours, and all the other stuff that came with being a commander, a person of note. He had thought of going to Denerim, to see Leliana, but maybe, he thought as he remembered how they had last parted, she was better off without him. She deserved someone who would grow old with her, not somebody who would disappear to die one day, like a sick old dog disappearing into the wilds when he knows his time is up. Nor did he want her to see the monster he would become when the taint inside him finally took over. He dreaded transforming into the darkspawn he had fought for so long. He didn't want to put Leliana through that. He didn't want to put anyone through that.

Instead, he turned back south. He had briefly thought of returning to Siofra as he passed the Brecilian Forest. A little part of him wanted to know more about her, to see if she was in fact telling the truth. But he decided not to. If she was his mother, he didn't owe her anything. She had, in spite of everything, given him up. So he continued through the Brecilian passage. Just outside of Gwaren, he turned to this beach.

Loki, Melisende's mabari hound, was his only companion now. The dog lay beside him, on his back with his paws in the air, wanting his belly to be rubbed. Tristan obliged. He had tried to send the hound back to Denerim, but Loki was too stubborn, and too loyal. He had followed Tristan here.

"Tired of being a stud for the Ferelden army?" Tristan teased the dog as he rubbed his belly. Loki whined and let his tongue roll over his mouth. Loki sat up suddenly and eyeing a water bird, went charging into the water.

"You may be a war hound, Loki, but you sure can't hunt for beans…" Tristan commented to himself as the bird flew away. He began to shed his armor. As part of his old life, he wouldn't take it with him anymore. He examined his sword, felt the pommel mould into his hand, and pricked his finger on the sharpness of its blade. He wouldn't take Vigilance with him either. He traced the heraldry on his shield. The griffin, a long dead creature, was the symbol of the Grey Wardens. Though with the taint running through his veins he could never escape being a Grey Warden, he would leave this behind for now as well. He whistled for Loki to return to his side. The dog came running back to him.

"Loki, dig." Tristan commanded the dog. Loki turned his head from side to side, not really comprehending Tristan. Tristan began to dig into the sand with his hands. Loki, always one to paw and dig up the ground, began to furiously imitate him, wagging his tail and barking in delight. Tristan stopped and watched the dog's progress. When the hole was deep enough, he stopped the dog. He gathered up his armor, sword, and shield and dumped it into the hole. He took a deep breath. Did he really want to do this?

_Yes_, he thought. He needed time to himself. He had paid his dues and more as a Grey Warden. He killed the archdemon; he should be dead anyways. Now, with nothing seriously threatening Ferelden, he wanted to live a life of his own choosing… at least until the taint overcame him. As he made up his mind, he began burying his possessions, pushing the sand over the hole. As he did so, he pushed all that was bothering him out of his mind; Morrigan and his son, the Grey Wardens, the Dalish woman, and Leliana. When the hole was nearly covered, he paused. He took out his small knife. Clutching at his hair, pulled back into a braid, he hacked it off. The braid, now separated from his head and lying in his hand, he tossed into the hole. He covered the hole. He felt his constant headaches drain away. He breathed a little easier. For the first time in his life, he was free now, wasn't he?

Tristan stood up and watched the sky. It was getting dark, colder. He had only a short tunic on which left his arms bare, thin pants which did nothing to stop the bitter wind from biting through to his skin, and nothing covering his feet, for he had buried his armored boots. He ran his hands through his hair, finding it odd when they became empty not far from his head. Loki nudged his leg and whined. Jingling his pouch of coin, Tristan began walking toward the town of Gwaren, not far off in the distance. He would have to buy some shoes and a cloak, he thought as his feet touched the cold ground.

"I need a drink, too," he said as he avoided stepping on a sharp rock.

…

They waited until he was nothing but a dot in the distance. Then they clambered onto the beach and began digging. The two loggers were brothers, poor, dirty, and when they had seen the man burying such fine armor and weapons, they thanked the Maker for their luck. The eldest reached into the ground and pulled up the sword, admiring its glowing gleam and feeling the power emanating from it. Oh yes, this would fetch a fine price in the markets. But they would have to sell it somewhere else, for if the man caught them in Gwaren, who's to say what he would do to them? He looked quite powerful and skilled. And although he had crazily buried his possessions, that didn't mean he was getting rid of them forever, right? So they would go to Denerim. The merchants there would offer more sovereigns for this kind of fine armor and weaponry than the merchants anywhere else anyway. And then they would be rich men, finally. No more toiling in the outskirts of the forest, cutting down trees and dragging them to and fro. They would finally live like kings.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Melisende felt a little nauseous as she travelled the moonlit road with the Dalish elf. Ronan was swift and determined. He hardly stopped to rest and he had barely given her any time to prepare before setting off. She had written a quick letter to Nathaniel, had gathered her swords and armor and was off before she even knew it.

Nathaniel. The thought of him still made her heart leap. With nothing much to do at the Keep anymore, Nathaniel had accepted an invitation from her brother Fergus to go hunting. He had taken Sammy with him and they had begged Melisende to come too, but she had refused. She wanted to be at the Keep when Tristan returned. She hadn't been there when he left. She had been worried all along. Out of all the Wardens, she knew Tristan best. It was not like him to just disappear. She knew how much Morrigan had been getting to him. She alone knew Tristan had a child with Morrigan. When Ronan said that he had found Morrigan, she was relieved. But then she was worried. Why hadn't he come back yet? She had kept her worries to herself, however. She hadn't wanted to trouble the others.

Melisende felt her stomach turn. She really shouldn't have joined in Oghren's drinking contest. Nobody ever could beat him. She clutched at the wound on her side. It throbbed in pain every once and a while, like it did now. She hadn't been on the road for some time now and the hasty pace was leaving her breathless. She stopped midstride. "Ronan, stop."

Ronan stopped and turned around to look at her. He grinned contemptuously at her as he noticed her heaving chest and painful look as she clutched at her side. "And you are a Grey Warden?"

Melisende frowned. "I was injured quite severely a year ago…"

Ronan came closer to her. "Well, suck it up; we have no time to waste."

Melisende sighed. She didn't quite trust Ronan. She felt like he was hiding something from her. How did he really know Tristan? What had his mother wanted to see Tristan for? Why did he think Tristan could save his mother? It was all very sketchy and suspicious. But they had a common goal, to find Tristan. She supposed she would just have to put up with his foul attitude for now. "Denerim will still be there in the morning. Besides, I highly doubt they'll just let us into the royal palace in the middle of the night."

"I thought you knew the king?" Ronan asked, a flicker of anger crossing through his eyes.

"I do. But even so, there is protocol to follow at court. I will get us an audience… but with… our history… it wouldn't look good if I came to him in the middle of the night." Melisende tried to explain. In her earlier haste, she hadn't realized this fact. The last thing she wanted to do was stir up gossip among the nobles. Anora might take it seriously. Alistair didn't need that.

Ronan groaned in frustration. "I don't understand the ways of you humans. Where I come from, the Keeper is always available to his people. But your kings, I hear they hide behind palace walls and come out only to wave to the people."

"That is not entirely true. King Alistair rules a whole kingdom. He has advisors and other nobles to help him rule. If he met with every single person to decide every single squabble, the kingdom would fall apart. And he doesn't just wave to the people. He has other duties. He fought for his country. As did his father, King Maric and his brother, King Cailan." Melisende replied defensively.

"Bah, let's just keep going." Ronan waved off her reply and began to turn around.

"No, we rest." Melisende stood her ground. Ronan turned back toward her. She stared at him sternly. He seemed to give in.

"Fine. But as soon as the sun comes up, we continue on our way." Ronan said as he walked off of the road and took a seat under a tree. Melisende was relieved. She hadn't realized how out of shape she had become. She hoped it wouldn't be long before she regained her previous form. Or maybe it was just the ale. She took a seat close by Ronan and watched him closely. He had the strangest eyes. They were a sparkly sky blue. Though blue eyes were not rare at all, as she herself had dark blue eyes, Ronan's eyes literally glittered when the light hit them. She had only ever seen one other person with eyes like those – Tristan. _Strange_, she thought. They were even sort of the same slanted shape. Nah, she must be just tired. She missed Tristan, and that was all.

She was startled from her thoughts by the appearance of a large wolf out of the darkness. She stood up in defense as it sauntered slowly towards Ronan. She grabbed at her swords on her back, but held back from drawing them when Ronan laughed at her. The wolf sat by Ronan and he pat it gently on the head.

"This is Ash." Ronan explained.

"You have a pet wolf?" Melisende asked incredulously. She slowly lowered herself back to a seated position.

"He's more a companion than a pet. He follows me, but he takes care of himself. He's certainly not a lapdog." Ronan replied. He smiled as Ash lay down beside him, crossing his paws and lowering his head onto them, all while closing his eyes to sleep.

"I once had a mabari." Melisende remarked, remembering Loki. She suddenly missed the hound.

"Don't get me started on mabaris if you want any rest." Ronan said with a slight grin, taking out his sword. He began to clean it. Puzzled, Melisende remained quiet for a few moments, entranced by the sword Ronan was lovingly caring for.

"Nice sword." She complimented him.

Ronan held it up at arm's length and admired it. The pommel and handle were made of ironbark and intricately carved with Dalish designs, similar to the many designs they wore on their faces. The blade itself was long and slightly curved in typical Dalish style. Melisende, however, couldn't tell what it was made of. It was shiny and the color of charcoal.

"This sword belonged to my grandfather. He was the greatest craftsmaster our clan has ever seen." Ronan remarked proudly. He held the sword out pommel first to Melisende. She reached over and accepted it. The blade was cool to the touch and smooth.

"What is it made of?" she asked curiously.

"Bones." Ronan replied as Melisende handed the sword back to him.

"The bones of a dragon?"

Ronan shrugged. "I don't really know. My grandfather found some bones when he was young. He thought it would make for a good blade, and he was right."

"Hmm…" Melisende replied. She was tired, but there was one thing she wanted to ask Ronan. "How sick is your mother?"

She thought Ronan might take offense at her for questioning his word. But instead, he turned to her miserably. "I have never seen her sick in all my life. And if my father sent me to fetch the Warden… then even he must think the worst…"

Melisende regarded Ronan sympathetically. She still didn't understand why they would fetch Tristan, but she suddenly felt sorry for Ronan. Maybe he wasn't so bad after all. She thought of her own mother. If she was still alive and became ill, Melisende too would go to the ends of Thedas for her. She would do the same for her father, too, but he was dead too. With his mother so ill, it was no wonder Ronan was in such haste to find Tristan.

Ronan lay down near Ash. They were both muddy from the earlier rain. She would have to throw a bucket of water onto him before bringing him before the King. As he closed his eyes to rest, his earlier attitude returned. "We're off as soon as the sun rises. If you can't keep up this time, I will continue without you."

_Well, so much for the niceness…_ Melisende thought. She would keep up. In fact, she would set the pace tomorrow and Ronan would be the one lagging behind and out of breath. She promised as she closed her own eyes that he would be in for a tough reality check, Grey Warden style.

…

"Ah, Denerim, it's been a while since I've seen your dirty, garbage filled streets." Melisende remarked as they entered the city. Ronan stood behind her, leaning over and holding onto his knees. She had kept her promise. She had set the pace at a little faster than a jog. Ronan had kept up steadily at first, but his endurance was lacking and he eventually had a hard time keeping up. She smiled at his attempt to hide his fatigue. He crinkled his nose.

"What a smelly place to live." Ronan said as he straightened up. Ash had taken to the woods just outside of Denerim. Ronan wished he could have brought the wolf with him, but bringing a wolf into a city just wouldn't do. He already felt people staring at him curiously. They obviously didn't see Dalish elves often.

"The city is not the only thing to emanate a stench…" Melisende playfully said, sending a look of concern at Ronan. He was offended. Sure, he was muddy still, but he had also been running like a fool for the past few days. "You can't see the king like that. We have to clean you up."

Suddenly, the prospect of meeting the king of Ferelden terrified Ronan. How was he supposed to act? What was he supposed to say? He didn't generally like humans. He was afraid he might insult the king accidently. Then what? Would the king throw him in prison? "Perhaps I could wait here, while you go ahead and speak to the king?"

Melisende frowned. "He may want to speak with you, seeing as you were probably the last person to see Tristan."

"What would that matter?" Ronan angrily snapped back. They began walking through the marketplace. There were a lot of people on the street. Ronan became uncomfortable. He had never seen so many humans before. Children scurried in front of him, pointing at him. He snarled at them in return.

"Alistair is one of Tristan's best friends. I would even say they are more like brothers than friends." Melisende explained as she stepped over some left over rubble. _Looks like the city is not completely back to normal_, she thought.

Ronan grumbled. Like brothers? For some reason he felt a little jealous. This made him somewhat angry and curious. What was this king like? "Fine. I will meet the king."

"Good." Melisende stopped in front of a small, recently repaired building. Ronan couldn't read, had never bothered to learn, really, but the symbol on the sign clearly called out _tavern_. Melisende opened the door. "But first, you need to throw a bucket of water over your head."

…

Melisende sat patiently on a corner bench. The Gnawed Noble tavern looked quite different from how it did before the final battle. No doubt it had caught fire and crumbled a little. But there were new walls and furniture and it still held the air of a stuffy meeting place for the big wigs of the city. She had sent Ronan to the back to clean up. Meanwhile, she re-arranged herself and freshened up while he was doing that. She was done quickly, never one to spend too much time on her appearance. It didn't make sense to her, seeing as she would just get messy again anyway. She was not some wallflower to stand around and look good. She was a fighter, a Grey Warden.

Melisende thought of Alistair. She hadn't seen him in almost two years. She wondered if he had changed much, if he was happy being a king, being married to Anora. Melisende found her stomach fluttering in nervous anticipation of the meeting. Nathaniel was her world now, but Alistair was her first love, she would always feel something for him.

She was startled back to reality by the arrival of Ronan. He sat abruptly onto the bench in front of her. _He definitely cleaned up well_, she found herself thinking. Melisende was astonished by how striking he looked. His brown hair shone gently, streaks of red visible here and there in some strands, and was pulled back into a messy bun. His tattoos were more visible now and quite… pretty. His eyes glittered in the sunlight that cascaded through the small window into the tavern.

"Shall we go?" Ronan asked.

"Yes, let's go."

…

Melisende and Ronan were led to an informal parlor room by a couple of guards and left alone. Ronan was surprised by how easily they were let in. Melisende was instantly recognized by the guards and had an easy way of talking with them. He wasn't quite sure what he was supposed to do. He felt utterly out of place inside this great palace. He had never been inside something so huge before, besides the ruins, but that didn't count in his mind. The ruins were like an extended part of the forest, overgrown and wild. But this large man-made structure was daunting. He paced back and forth, glancing at the ceiling, expecting it to crumble down on him any second.

Melisende, meanwhile, was suddenly anxious. Maybe she should have spent more time on her appearance. What would Alistair think of her after all this time? Would he be angry at her for pushing him away when he tried to help her? Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all. She took a seat on one of the sofas.

"You can sit down," she said to Ronan. His pacing was grating on her nerves. She took pity on him as he reluctantly sat down. He looked terribly ill at ease. She hoped she didn't look the same. She repeatedly ran a hand through her hair in an effort to make it look neat.

"What are you doing?" Ronan asked her, a look of slight annoyance on his face.

Melisende pouted. "I'm brushing my hair, what does it look like?"

"I thought women used combs to brush their hair, not their fingers." Ronan retorted sarcastically.

"Well I obviously don't have one with me, otherwise I would be using one." Melisende replied. She ran her hands over her arms, making sure her shirt was not dirty. Ronan sighed heavily. Her fidgeting was irritating him.

"You look fine," he remarked. She stopped fidgeting and looked a little embarrassed. "What's the big deal, anyway? I thought you knew the king personally."

"I do. I just… haven't seen him in a long time…" Melisende blushed. She didn't really want to be speaking about Alistair with a stranger.

"Right…" Ronan rolled his eyes and grinned. "You banged him, didn't you?"

"Excuse me!" Melisende asked, shocked that Ronan could be so blunt. Before she had time to reply, however, Alistair came striding into the room. As he glimpsed Melisende, he smiled broadly. Melisende sat up to greet him, extending her hand out, but Alistair instead grabbed her into a great big hug.

"Melisende, it's so good to see you!" he exclaimed. When he let her go, Melisende turned to Ronan, who grinned with mischief and even winked at Melisende with a knowing look. _By the Maker_, she thought, _I am going to pummel him into the ground…_

"This is Ronan." Melisende gestured toward the elf. Alistair enthusiastically took his hand in greeting.

"Nice to meet you, Ronan." Alistair said. Ronan was unsure of what to say. He was flabbergasted by the friendliness of the king. He was expecting the king to be a stuffy and pompous old man. Then he remembered what he knew of the king – that he had been a bastard, raised away from court as a normal child. And he was most definitely not an old man. He was probably only slightly older than Tristan. Alistair gestured towards the sofas. "Please, sit."

"Thank you for taking the time to meet with us so promptly." Melisende said. Her anxiety flew out the window. Alistair was the same as he had always been. She was relieved. He looked quite happy and comfortable of where he was. She was glad that it no longer pained her to think of what they had lost when he became king and married Anora.

"You know I'll always make time for a friend." Alistair replied, smiling still. "So what brings you to Denerim?"

It was Ronan's turn to be relieved. Straight to the point, that was what he was hoping for.

"It's Tristan." Melisende replied.

"Oh?" Alistair looked puzzled. "Has he found Morrigan?"

Melisende's heart sank. So he didn't know anything more than they did. "Yes, and we were hoping that he had sent news to you. He hasn't returned to the Keep yet. Ronan here met with him about three weeks ago. It is from him we know that Tristan found Morrigan."

"Strange." Alistair pondered. "That is not like him at all. It is a little worrisome, but we all know that he's more than capable of taking care of himself."

"But he's alone, what if something happened to him?" Melisende protested. She was hoping Alistair would have taken this more seriously.

"Maybe he's taking time for himself?" Alistair suggested.

"Without telling anyone?" Melisende replied inquisitively. Perhaps Alistair was right. But Melisende couldn't shake off the feeling that something was wrong. It wasn't like him to just abandon everything. Something must have happened, right? Or perhaps she didn't really know Tristan at all.

Ronan cleared his throat to catch their attention. "Do you know where he could be?"

Alistair turned to Ronan curiously. "He could be anywhere."

"Where is Leliana?" Melisende asked. Perhaps he was with her.

"She is here, in Denerim." Alistair replied. He focused on Ronan. "Um, I don't mean to be rude here, but who are you exactly?"

"My father is Keeper Silas. My clan inhabits a part of the Brecilian Forest."  
"I didn't realize there was another clan there, unless Keeper Lanaya…"

"No, we are another clan. We moved north during the Blight, but have recently returned." Ronan explained.

"And are you searching for Tristan?" Alistair prodded.

Ronan nodded. "It is urgent. My mother is sick. The Warden is the only one who can help her."

Alistair looked puzzled. "Surely your father, being a Keeper, can cure your mother with magic?"

Ronan shook his head. "There are no mages in my clan…"

"There are no other mages you can count on for help?" Alistair pushed. Ronan was getting nervous. He didn't want to reveal too much. It was none of their business why he needed Tristan and only Tristan.

"No." Ronan replied sternly and with force. Alistair looked to Melisende, who only shrugged.

"Then I apologize. I wish I knew where he was. Unfortunately he hasn't sent any news to me. I can ask around. Maybe some of my scouts and spies have seen him." Alistair offered.

"That would help. Thank you." Melisende said. Ronan sighed.

"There is no time." Ronan complained, standing up and walking over to the window.

"It won't take long. There are benefits to being a king, after all." Alistair grinned. "In any case, why don't you two stay the night? There's not much you can do right now."

Melisende glanced at Ronan. He gazed out the window, looking irritated. Alistair was right; there was nothing they could do at this point. She accepted his invitation, firmly reminding him that it would be for one night only. She hoped she wouldn't run into Anora. She couldn't bear having to make polite conversation with her. Alistair better not invite them to dinner.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Melisende lounged in the warm waters of the stone bath. She had been reluctant to enjoy such a luxury, but Alistair's serving woman was adamant and would not take no for an answer. So she had shed all her clothes and armor and had dipped into the bath, trying not to think about Ronan and how he was faring being cooped up in a palace for the night. She couldn't imagine how he was feeling. She hoped he wouldn't get into any trouble. In the meantime, she enjoyed the feel of the water upon her skin, the scent of the oils wafting up to her nose, and the quiet. It had been such a long time since she enjoyed a sumptuous bath such as this. She dunked her head underwater and began combing through her long hair – with a comb this time.

Melisende was drifting into a serene sleep when she was startled back awake by the sound of footsteps entering the main bedroom she had been given. Thinking it might be the serving woman come to empty the bath, she grudgingly arose. Dripping wet and naked she made her way into the bedroom, twisting her hair in an effort to dry it. She stopped midstride as she spied the intruder. It was not the serving woman – it was Alistair, lounging on a chair and staring at her in equal surprise.

Flustered, Melisende didn't know what to do or say. "Uh… I thought you were the servant."

"Sorry," Alistair said, continuing to stare at her. "It's uh, me, Alistair."

"Well," Melisende pointed to her naked self in an attempt to downplay her embarrassment, "it's not like you haven't seen this before…"

"Right…" Alistair rose slowly from his seat. "I should go."

"No, don't." Melisende searched for her tunic. Spotting it on the floor, she picked it up and hastily put it on. Being so wet, the tunic did nothing to hide the curves of her body. _So much for modesty_, Melisende thought. Sensing her discomfiture, Alistair walked over to the bed and grabbed a blanket.

"Here," he held it out to her, "you don't want to catch a chill."

"Thank you," she replied as she accepted the blanket, wrapping it around her shoulders. She took a seat on one of the chairs and Alistair did the same. "So…"

"So…" Alistair repeated after her. He tapped the edge of his chair incessantly. _Maker, what did he want? _Melisende thought in annoyance.

"Not that I was looking… well, I was, but… not because…" Alistair sighed.

"What, Alistair?" Melisende prodded. He had looked her over with interest. He didn't have to stammer out any excuse. In fact, Melisende wished he would just say what he came here for. This was getting terribly awkward. If anybody walked in on them, they might get the wrong idea.

"Those scars, on your side, and on your shoulder, they are new. Are they from the assassination attempt?" Alistair finally managed to ask. Melisende shifted uncomfortably. She didn't like to talk about it. She had nearly died, had nearly lost her ability to fight. She still felt uneasy in large crowds and with strangers. Nathaniel had helped her a lot after her injury. His presence was a soothing balm to any anxiety she felt due to that incident. She suddenly missed him. She looked at Alistair.

"Yes, they are from the… incident."

"I'm glad you are better." Alistair flashed a sweet smile at her. Her heart skipped like it always did whenever he did that. She muttered a thank you and then remained silent, waiting for him to say something else. Why was he doing this to her? She was over him; it had been hard but she had moved on. Why was he treating her as if they had never parted? She couldn't believe that he could still be in love with her. She shook the feeling off.

"Did you need something?" she broke the silence.

"I just wanted to discuss Tristan." Alistair leaned forward. "It's all a little strange, isn't it? This Ronan character, do you trust him? He looks a bit shifty."

Melisende thought about her reply for a moment. "I admit, I am a little wary of him. However, I think we can trust him. He seems to be genuinely searching for Tristan on behalf of his father."

"But why Tristan? Why do they need him in particular? Tristan never mentioned anything about this clan, did he?"

"No, I don't remember him mentioning a Keeper named Silas. When we met with Zathrian, I believe that was the first time he had met with a Dalish clan."

"Hmm… in any case, I hope he is alright." Alistair said worriedly. "You mentioned that he did find Morrigan?"

"Apparently so. Did he tell you why he wanted to find Morrigan in the first place?" Melisende asked, curious to see what Tristan had told Alistair.

Alistair nodded. "He wanted to make sure his child was alright."

So, Tristan had confessed to Alistair. Melisende wondered if Leliana knew. Perhaps that is why he didn't come back? Melisende couldn't imagine Leliana would be pleased to find out that he had a child with Morrigan. "Does Leliana know?"

"Yes she does. And she's very angry with him. When I talked with her last she was calmer, but still angered. Not surprisingly, she feels betrayed and doesn't know if she can ever trust him again." Alistair explained sorrowfully.

"That is a shame. Even so, I don't think Tristan would just give her up without a fight. There must be something more to his disappearance. I really hope your spies can find something, anything, to point us in the right direction." Melisende said worriedly. She took a deep breath to calm down. Alistair came over to her and put his arm around her.

"You'll find him." Alistair reassured her. She desperately wanted to push him away, but it felt good to be held in his strong arms. There was nothing wrong with being comforted by a friend, right? In any case, Alistair soon released her and stood up.

"I have to go. When my spies report back to me, I will let you know. Probably tomorrow morning. Get some rest." Alistair walked towards the doorway, and then turned around abruptly. "It was nice talking to you, Mel. You should come around more often. Bring that man of yours, what's his name, Nathaniel?"

"Um, sure," she responded with surprise. He knew about Nate then, did he? His spies were good, though her relationship with Nathaniel wasn't really a secret. Still, it gave her hope that they could lead her to Tristan.

…

The next morning, Melisende woke up early and went to find Ronan. She wondered how he was doing, being in a palace. The servants directed her to his room and she went in. It was empty and it looked like nobody had been in there all night. Worried that he had decided to leave, she searched frantically through the room. And then she noticed the balcony door was open a crack. She went over to it and opened it ever so slowly. She let out her breath in relief as she spotted Ronan in a seated position, leaning his head against the railing. He was still asleep. Melisende stepped over his legs and sat down next to him. She leaned into his ear and whispered his name. He stirred, but did not open his eyes.

"Ronan." Melisende said a little louder. This time Ronan opened his eyes. Melisende was struck with emotion at that moment. Ronan looked so vulnerable, young, and handsome all at once. She desperately wanted to give him a hug and tell him it would be alright, but the moment passed as his walls went up and he gave her a look of irritation.

"What?" he spat out as Melisende regarded him curiously.

"Nothing." Melisende replied, a slight smile on her face. Ronan stood up and stretched his limbs. He rubbed his neck and rotated his shoulders. Melisende stood up as well and went back into the room. Ronan soon followed.

"Sore neck?" she asked Ronan.

"It's nothing to whine about." Ronan replied.

"So do you always sleep on balconies?" Melisende teased Ronan.

"I was suffocating in here. I needed to see the stars." Ronan shrugged nonchalantly. He watched with interest as an elven serving girl came in the room, offering them both a glass of water. Melisende was intrigued by his reaction – he brushed off the serving girl's offer and looked at her with disdain. The servant quickly left.

"What was that about?" she asked him.

"Flat-ears," was all Ronan replied. Melisende was puzzled but did not push Ronan any further. It must be an elf thing. Or maybe it was just Ronan. He seemed to detest or look down upon everybody but the Dalish. Velanna had had the same attitude at first, but she eventually mellowed out. Ronan must not get out much. He turned to her then, a look of impatience. "What's next?"

"We meet with Alistair."

…

The king strode into the parlor room with a solemn expression covering his face. Ronan took it as a sign of nothing good. He prepared himself to hear the worst – Tristan could not be found, his mother would surely die. The king turned to Melisende and then to Ronan, shaking his head.

"I'm sorry, there is nothing to report."

Ronan turned his back on them and paced around the room. What would he do now? Where was that stupid man? He couldn't go home empty handed. His pride would not allow that. Melisende sighed deeply and shrugged her shoulders.

"You tried. Thank you," she said to the king.

"What will you do now?" the king asked her. He looked suspiciously at Ronan. Ronan didn't care. He would be out of here soon enough.

"Continue the search, I suppose. It will be hard without a lead, but not impossible. Somebody somewhere will know something." Melisende replied.

Ronan was going to wait until the king left to take his leave, for he supposed that was the polite way to act in the presence of a king, but he grew impatient with the small talk. He walked toward the door. "I am leaving."

As he entered the hallway he heard Melisende's sharp intake of breath and deep apologies to the king, excusing Ronan and then herself. He made his way through the palace, heading toward the exit. He made it outside and continued walking. He wasn't sure where he was going to go, but he heard footsteps catching up to him. He wished the _shem_ woman would leave him alone. He didn't need her. He would find Tristan on his own. He did not stop nor acknowledge Melisende as she pulled up beside him close to the marketplace.

"Ronan, stop, please." Melisende begged as she grabbed his arm in order to halt his hasty retreat. He sent her a stony glare as he shook his arm out of her clutch.

"You don't have to follow me anymore." Ronan grumbled.

"I _want_ to help you." Melisende replied, a hurt look on her face. "And I want to find Tristan."

Ronan chuckled. How did Tristan inspire such loyalty? Ronan had only met him twice, but it was enough to make him sick. The man was full of himself – acting all humble and good, using the fact that he saved the world to get what he wanted. Well Ronan knew better than that. Tristan was a selfish _halla_ turd. He would never get any sympathy from Ronan. Melisende looked puzzled.

"Well, I don't know how you can help me. Follow me if you want to, but I won't slow down nor keep checking behind me to see if you're still there." Ronan warned Melisende. She grinned. Ronan frowned.

"I recall the last time you said that I was the one ahead," she reminded him smugly. Ronan crossed his arms over his chest.

"It won't happen again. I promise you that." Ronan pledged. Melisende just smiled, a hint of mischief dancing in her eyes. Ronan shook his head and began to walk. "Let's just get out of this place."

Melisende walked beside him. Ronan watched with interest as she observed the marketplace carefully. She was more relaxed now that they were out of the palace. She had been tense and a little fretful during their short stay there. He wondered if he had been right; had she slept with the king? He tried to remember the stories of the Grey Wardens who defeated the Blight. If he recalled correctly, they had been made up of Alistair the king, Tristan, and sometimes they told of a woman of noble birth. Was it Melisende? He watched as a long strand of her hair came loose and blew into her face. She did nothing to move it out of her way. She certainly didn't act like a noble lady, though Ronan hardly knew how noble ladies were supposed to act. She stopped suddenly in her tracks and turned to Ronan, a calm excitement on her face. She squeezed his shoulder lightly.

"What?" he asked, jolted from his thoughts. Her touch sent a pleasant tingle through his body. He ignored the feeling, but did not shake off her hand from his shoulder.

"Look, over there." Melisende gestured with her head towards a merchant hawking his wares. Ronan didn't get what her excitement was about. Did she want to buy something?

"I don't get it." Ronan stated bluntly. She looked at him, a crooked half smile playing on her face.

"The sword," she replied eagerly. "I know that sword."

Melisende let go of his shoulder and calmly made her way toward the merchant. Ronan, still puzzled, followed closely behind her. The merchant, fat and bald, eyed the two of them warily, but noticing their armor and weapons turned his attention fully to them. He held up a sword, the sword Melisende was so excited about seeing, and beckoned the two of them closer. As Ronan examined the sword more closely, he had a flash of memory – Tristan tied up before him while he held up Tristan's sword in mockery, and then tossing it aside carelessly to rile up Tristan. Now Ronan knew why Melisende was so excited; the sword the merchant held was Tristan's sword. He glanced at Melisende and nodded ever so slightly. She returned the gesture.

"Does the sword interest you, m'lady?" the merchant asked Melisende. She took her time to reply, running her finger over the blade slowly.

"It might," she replied coyly.

"It is of the finest make. Made of ancient dragonbone. See how it glows and seethes with power?" the merchant placed it on the table before them.

"When did you get such a lovely piece?" Melisende asked, crouching low to examine the sword at eye level. She glanced up at the merchant with a sweet smile. Ronan watched with amusement as the merchant rubbed his bald head and grew flustered.

"Just yesterday, m'lady."

"And who would part with such a piece of art?" Melisende questioned the merchant, all the while fingering the curved hilt of the sword.

"Oh, just some lads fallen on hard times," the merchant nervously replied. He seemed uncomfortable at the way Melisende was touching the sword. He brought his hand down over the hilt, brushing Melisende's own away from it.

"Did these lads hail from Denerim?" Melisende asked. The merchant looked uncomfortable. He became a little impatient with all the questions.

"Look, are you interested in the sword, or not?" he petulantly inquired. "I've got many a noble interested in acquiring such a prize piece."

Melisende let out a single laugh and then in an instant had the merchant by his collar, leaning over the table. He tried to grab the sword back but Melisende grabbed it with her free hand. The merchant looked around for help, but nobody would interfere. Ronan unsheathed his sword and dangled it over the ground menacingly.

"Look, this needn't end badly. Who sold it to you and from where did they come from?" Melisende demanded of the merchant, pulling on his collar to intimidate him. Ronan was impressed. He didn't think the woman had it in her to bully someone.

"Loggers…" the merchant squeaked out.

"From where?" Melisende pressed further.

"I don't know…" the merchant pleaded. He looked to Ronan for help. Ronan grinned at the man.

"Answer her." Ronan told the merchant, twirling his sword into the ground. This was quite fun. Nobody dared help the merchant.

"G-Gwaren, I think," the merchant answered cowering in fear and trying to remove himself from Melisende's grip. She reluctantly let him go, picking up the sword and holding it up high.

"How did these loggers from Gwaren get their hands on this sword?" she asked.

The merchant held up his hands and shook his head. "I don't know, honestly!"

Melisende regarded him calmly with disgust. "Do you know whose sword this is?"

The merchant shook his head vehemently.

"It was made especially for the Warden Commander. You know him, right? He saved Ferelden from the Blight. To see this exquisitely crafted sword end up in the hands of a sniveling merchant like you is disgusting. I am taking this sword with me to return it to its rightful owner." Melisende took Vigilance and began walking away.

"Wait! I paid good money for that!" the merchant cried out. Melisende turned around, glared at him menacingly and then continued on her way. Ronan stood still, chuckling at the merchant. The merchant scowled at him. Ronan slammed his hand down onto the table really hard, causing the merchant to jump back in fright. Ronan laughed and then followed quickly after Melisende.

"So," he said as he caught up to her. "Gwaren then?"

Melisende nodded her head. Her excitement was gone. She seemed to be worried now. "We make our way south to Gwaren."

Ronan hoped they would find Tristan in Gwaren. He was worried about his mother. How much longer could she hold on?


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Streams of sunshine filtered through the cracks of the shutters onto the bed. Tristan tossed and turned, unable to sleep peacefully. It was that dream again.

Tristan had been in Gwaren for about two weeks. He had spent his time mostly in slumber. He had never slept so much in his life. He hadn't realized how tired he really was. But his sleep wasn't peaceful – it rarely was for a Grey Warden. There were still darkspawn below, he still heard their murmurings in his sleep, though it wasn't as loud as during the Blight. And sometimes, like on this day, he dreamt of his past, of when he was a child.

It was one recurring dream. Tristan was sure it was a memory. He was an orphan child, running through the streets of Denerim. In the back alleys, he came upon a man. A tall mage with shoulder length, wavy brown hair, a neatly trimmed beard, and almond shaped, brown eyes. The mage looked at him curiously, a strange interest lighting up his face. Tristan got the feeling that the mage knew he had powers, powers that he had yet to tap into. The mage crouched down in front of him and showed him a trick – how to make fire burn from the palms of his hand from nothing. Tristan mimicked him, astonished to see that he could do it too. The mage had smiled and ruffled his hair. And then a group of Templars came by. The mage covered his head in a hood, smiled once more, and then dissolved into the darkness. Tristan never saw him again. He didn't know why this particular memory had come back to him all of a sudden. Why now?

That had been his first experience with magic. He would practice in secret, perfecting the fireballs and sending them flying into the stone walls near the river. A group of older boys had been hounding him, teasing him, and pushing him around. Tristan had thought the mage had been sent by the Maker, for he used his newfound abilities to get back at the bullies. But it had backfired. He hadn't been able to hurt them and only succeeded in garnering attention to himself. Somebody had alerted the Templars, who took him back to the orphanage. After being interrogated by the chantry sisters, he was sent to the Circle Tower, where he lived until recruited by the Grey Wardens.

As he dreamt again of that memory of his first time realizing he had magical abilities, he woke with a start, shoving the covers off. He swung his legs to the floor, where they nearly hit Loki. Loki whined and rolled out of the way.

"Sorry, boy." Tristan muttered. "I need some fresh air."

…

Tristan walked around Gwaren, reveling in the feeling of being a nobody. Now that his hair was shorter, it had darkened slightly. Not that he thought anybody would have recognized him even if he hadn't cut his hair. Gwaren was once, after all, Loghain's Teyrnir. If the place ever had heard of him, it was as Loghain's murderer. He doubted they had painted a pretty picture of him. On that note, he kept mostly to himself, avoiding attracting any unnecessary attention.

Of course, that was a little hard to do with Loki trotting around behind him. Mabari warhounds were prized dogs and people tended to look at him curiously and then at Tristan. The tattoos on half of his face did nothing to help his cause either. Usually, the only people who had facial tattoos were barbarians, Dalish elves, or dwarves. Sometimes he got the feeling that some people thought him a thief, for why else would a human with a tattooed face carry himself so well and travel with a mabari warhound?

Tristan took a seat on a bench in front of the inn. He wasn't quite ready to go back to his room. The sun was shining brightly and emitting a warm glow, rare for the time of year. It might be his last chance to enjoy the outdoors before it turned bitterly cold. Loki lounged on his stomach in front of Tristan, watching the busy streets of Gwaren curiously. Tristan hoped he wouldn't have to hold Loki back again – the dog had nearly knocked a couple of people over in an attempt to catch an orange cat. Every time he saw that cat after the first time, Tristan quietly cast a paralyze spell on Loki and shooed the cat away. Loki whined at him after, but it was for the best. Tristan didn't want to attract any more attention.

As Tristan basked in the simple anonymity of sitting on a bench in the sunshine, he heard some sharp voices from around the corner. It was an argument, he thought, as a man's voice boomed loudly in complaint. A woman replied sweetly and assuredly. At the sound of the woman's voice, Tristan sat up straighter, craning to hear. He hadn't been particularly interested in the argument, but there was a familiarity in the women's voice that he couldn't ignore.

"The axe you sold me broke. It was nicked when you sold it to me. You cheated me. I want my money back!" the man's voice rang out from around the corner.

"Oh no. You are mistaken. There was nothing wrong with it. It was you that caused it to break," the woman replied calmly with a flirtatious lilt to her voice. _By the Maker_, Tristan thought,_ that has got to be Brenna. _As he realized who the woman was, he momentarily contemplated running into the inn to hide. But he changed his mind as the argument escalated.

"Give me my money back, harlot, or else…" the man threatened.

"Or else, what?" Brenna replied loudly. And then Tristan heard scuffling noises. That was it; he had to go see what was going on. He stood up from the bench and turned the corner. He saw the man, a burly lumberjack, grab Brenna's arm and twist it around with one hand while with his other he tried to reach for Brenna's pouch. Brenna tried to twist herself away and swatted at him, but he didn't let go.

"Let go of her." Tristan called out as he neared the struggle. The burly lumberjack looked up at Tristan. Noticing that Tristan was unarmed, he let out a loud laugh, yanking Brenna closer towards him.

"I said, let go of her." Tristan warned again. This time Loki came clambering beside Tristan, and sensing Tristan's mood, he was growling and ready to attack the lumberjack. The lumberjack noticed and took fright, but instead of just letting Brenna go, he shoved her hard onto the ground and then sent a menacing look of defeat to Tristan.

"You're lucky," he growled as he spat onto the ground near Brenna and took off down the alleyway. Tristan went over to Brenna, who had not yet seen him because of the struggle. He held out his hand to help her up. She glanced up in his direction and with surprise, accepted his hand and was pulled up into a standing position. She brushed the dirt off of her clothes – a long black flowing skirt, skin tight tunic, all covered with a fur trimmed cloak.

"Tristan?" she asked, curiously scrutinizing his new look.

"Yes," he replied. "Are you alright?"

Brenna nodded. "Yes, thank you."

"You should be more wary of the people you deal with." Tristan cautioned.

"It's nothing I haven't handled before, thank you very much." Brenna replied, a little offended that Tristan would think her an idiot. He hadn't said that of course, but his tone certainly gave her cause to think so.

"Well then," Tristan took in a deep breath. "Seeing as you can take care of yourself, I will be on my way. Nice seeing you again, Brenna."

Tristan turned to leave, Loki hot on his heels. Brenna stood in the alleyway for a brief second, too stunned to move. _Did that just happen? No, what just happened?_ Puzzled, she quickly caught up to Tristan.

"Wait!" she called out to him. He stopped as she nudged her way past Loki to end up in front of Tristan. Loki let out a little yelp of annoyance. Brenna petted his head in reassurance.

"Yes?" Tristan asked. He was happy that he could help Brenna, but now he was worried that she would follow him around town. Not that she was displeasing or anything, in fact, she was quite pleasing to look at, but the whole point of him coming to Gwaren was to be alone.

"What are you doing here?" Brenna replied with a question of her own. She sent him a smile which was at once enticing and questioning.

"Nothing." Tristan couldn't help returning the grin. It was odd, wasn't it? Running into Brenna was the last thing he expected. He might have been annoyed the last time he had run into her, but now, taking in the sight of her, he thought of a different memory of her altogether – one that involved a whole lot of naughty behavior.

"Really?" Brenna smiled again, even more tantalizing than before, if that were possible.

"Well… would you like to discuss this further in my room?" Tristan gestured toward the inn with a wicked leer.

Brenna laughed. She wasn't quite sure what was going on. What had happened to Tristan? The last time they had met he was quite rude. But she had attributed the grumpiness to whatever business he was on. Now he was inviting her to his room? She thought he had a woman. And what had he done to his hair? Where was his armor? His sword? She considered his proposal hungrily; on the one hand, she would like nothing more than to go to his room, and if his expression was any indication of his wishes, have a romp in the bed sheets, or on the floor, or wherever he wanted, she was that wild about him. But on the other hand, she felt like something was amiss with him. She didn't want to let herself get hurt. She decided to make a counter-proposal.

"I will go to your room, but only to talk." Brenna firmly stated.

"Oh?" Tristan arched a brow toward her. She wanted only to talk? Well, maybe that was a better idea. Now that he thought about it more, perhaps it was best. He still thought of Leliana every now and then. He certainly didn't want to jump into bed with Brenna and have her think there was a future between them. It wouldn't be fair to her; he knew she had a thing for him. It was plainly visible the last time they had met. _Talk_. He supposed he could do that. He couldn't really withdraw his invitation because she wanted to talk… could he? Nah. He better just agree with her. "As you wish; let's go talk."

…

Tristan pulled up the only chair in the room and placed it in front of the bed. Making a sweeping gesture with his left arm, he offered one or the other to Brenna. "Take your pick, my lady. The bed or the chair?"

Brenna laughed. What was up with Tristan? She hadn't seen him so lighthearted since she had first met him at the Circle Tower. "I'll take the chair, thank you."

Tristan helped Brenna take a seat in the chair and then lay back onto the bed, lounging with his hands behind his head. Loki jumped up onto the bed, causing it to shift a little.

"Woah boy." Tristan held Loki's slobbering tongue at bay with his hand. "Why do dogs always have to lick everything?" he jokingly asked. Loki had been following him around for a long time now, yet he still hated being licked or drooled on by the hound.

Brenna snickered at the sight. "Since when did you have a dog?"

"Oh, he's not just a dog. He's a mabari warhound. He was with me during the Blight and he's been with me the last couple of months." Tristan playfully pushed Loki away from him. Loki whined and then settled down for a nap. "Loki's not mine, though he seems to have imprinted himself onto me for now."

"I see." Brenna replied, smiling at the cheer radiating from Tristan. Her heart fluttered and she suddenly wished that she hadn't suggested they come up only to talk. But no, she couldn't think like that. She shook herself out of her revelry. He seemed happy, but there also seemed to be something amiss with him. She would prod it out of him. "What are you doing all the way here, in Gwaren?"

Tristan looked at her with a cocked brow. "Do I have to be doing something to be here?"

"I just thought you had duties elsewhere; that is all." Brenna replied. He was Commander of the Grey Wardens, wasn't he?

"Well, I don't. Sorry." Tristan said with finality. He really hoped she wouldn't continue to question him. He only wanted to live his new life. He wouldn't be going back to the old life; at least that was how he felt the more time he spent away from it. When he had buried his weapons and armor, he thought it was possibly only temporary, but everything had changed. Maybe it was just because he had finally caught up on his sleep, but he felt renewed. No, it wasn't just because of the rest; he savored the feeling of being in charge of his own life. No more would anyone tell him what to do – the chantry sisters who ran the orphanage, the First Enchanter, the Templars, Duncan, and then Alistair – it was time for him to choose his own path.

"Why did you cut your hair?" Brenna broke the silence as Tristan ran a hand through his hair, lost in his thoughts.

"I thought we came to talk." Tristan jested. "This feels more like an interrogation than a friendly conversation."

Brenna sighed. "Fine. Be evasive. But if you need to unburden yourself…"

Tristan cut her off, shaking his head. "There is no need." Grinning, he continued, "Now, Brenna, tell me, what have you been up to, besides cheating customers and then fending them off alone in back alleys?"

"You're horrible." Brenna friskily answered with a coy smile, stretching out her limbs like a languid cat.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Tristan sat quietly contemplating his hand of cards in the local tavern. It was filled to the brim with drunken loggers, sailors, and fishermen, with a fiddler fervently emitting tunes for them to dance to. Brenna meanwhile, had gotten bored with watching him play cards and had joined in the merry dancing, much to the delight of the drunks.

Tristan and Brenna had spent the last two days together, with Tristan and Loki hovering behind Brenna as she continued to ply her trade. They had laughed at the nervous scowls her customers exhibited at the sight of Tristan and Loki. This afternoon, however, they had decided to spend a little time in the warm tavern. The temperature outside was beginning to plummet. Loki, however, remained outside for the time being. It was much too crowded to bring the hound into the tavern.

Tristan took a sip of his ale as he tried to concentrate on the game. He had bet a lot of money and the sailor he was playing against was quite good, though Tristan had a suspicious feeling that he was cheating. Tristan had, after all, learned to play cards only a few years ago from one of the better cheats he had ever met – Isabela, the captain of the _Siren's Call_, and an old acquaintance of Zevran. Isabela had been a tireless flirt, trying to distract him from her cheating with her charm, but to no avail. But now, it was Brenna who was distracting him. Not on purpose, but she nevertheless was making it hard to think straight with her twirling and swaying back and forth to the fiddle. _The cards, Tristan, look at the cards…_ he chided himself.

Brenna laughed as she danced to and fro, swinging through the arms of many a drunken man and a few tavern wenches too. Tristan wasn't the only one distracted by her gleeful and sensuous dance. Usually, dancing to a fiddle was not in the least tantalizing, but Brenna made it so. One bold, but drunk, man kept his grip on Brenna as she passed by him. He clumsily tried to feel her up. Tristan frowned and would have leapt up in Brenna's defense, but she calmly laughed, playfully slapped him away and moved on. Tristan met Brenna's gaze. Her vivid green eyes smiled coyly along with her mouth and she shrugged nonchalantly, continuing to dance. Tristan shook his head and turned his attention back to his card game, which he was losing badly now. His opponent was a cheat, but he hadn't been able to catch him in the act with Brenna's distracting carousing. _Focus_, he reprimanded himself. _Brenna can take care of herself._

As Tristan's attention returned to the game at hand, the drunken man once again made his way up to Brenna, this time he was angry. She had embarrassed him in front of his friends. He grabbed her roughly by the arm and pulled her closer to him, chuckling. Brenna tried to twist away but he was too strong for her. He tried to plant a kiss on her but she turned away quickly.

"Unhand me!" she shouted. Hearing this, Tristan looked up from his game of cards. _Oh, for the love of the Maker…_ he stood up, tossed his cards onto the table and pushed his way to the middle of the tavern. He grabbed the drunken man by the shoulder and turned him around roughly.

"Is there a problem here?" Tristan scowled at the drunken man. The room went quiet, sensing trouble. There was an air of excitement around the room; anticipation of a brawl always did that. The tavern owner eyed the scene nervously, not wanting to stop free entertainment, but also not wanting his establishment to be trashed.

"Mind your business," the drunken man managed to respond, slurring his words. Brenna tried again to break free of his grip. She looked at Tristan pleadingly, but also with an apologetic look. She hadn't meant to start trouble…

"Do as she says. Unhand her." Tristan commanded menacingly, bunching his fists at his side. A bit of murmurs broke the silence. The tavern's customers were no doubt placing bets on the outcome of the fight they knew was coming. The drunken man stared at Tristan, sizing him up. He turned to Brenna and leered at her hungrily.

"Is this harlot your wife? You should know better than to let her dance in a tavern like a loose woman…" the drunken man spat out, smirking at Brenna as he said the words. Brenna winced at the word harlot. _That's it, jerk, you asked for it_, Tristan thought as he brought his right fist swinging towards the drunken man's head and connecting with a sharp crack. The drunken man fell backwards, his nose a bloody mess. The tavern erupted into "oohs". The drunken man's friends ran to his side. Brenna quickly ran to Tristan's side. The tavern's owner came running to the center of the room.

"Stop! This goes no further!" he shouted, waving his arms in the air. The occupants of the tavern booed, wanting to see a brawl. The drunken man got up, holding his nose in pain. His friends glared at Tristan wickedly.

"No worries. We are leaving." Tristan gently shoved Brenna towards the door and started backing away slowly, keeping an eye on the group of angry men scowling at him. One man in particular stared at Tristan intensely, a puzzled look on his face. Tristan felt intensely uncomfortable under his gaze.

"Wait, I know you…" the man burst into speech. He trudged forward to stand face to face with Tristan. "I was there… you was the one that killed the teyrn!"

_Maker, this is going to get ugly. _"Brenna, go outside, now." Tristan quietly told Brenna. She looked around the tavern, noticing the looks of anger on everyone's face. They had recognized Tristan. She wanted to stay by his side but he urged her once more to leave, even pushing her to the door.

"I was at the Landsmeet. This man is the Grey Warden that killed Teyrn Loghain! Loghain was our hero; he drove out the Orlesian pigs from Ferelden. He deserved a hero's death!" the man continued shouting.

"But the Grey Wardens, they's stopped the Blight…" a tavern wench countered loudly. The man glared at her.

"They killed Loghain and puts one of them own on the throne!" the man angrily replied to the wench and the room at large.

"Yeah, but the teyrn's daughter is still Queen…" the wench spoke up again. The man angrily waved her off.

"Shut up wench!" the man pointed at Tristan. "Get him!"

The tavern owner jumped out of the way as the group of men all ran toward Tristan at once. Tristan shook his head and cursed as they surrounded him. Not everyone in the tavern was after him, but the ones that weren't were not making any effort to help him either. He would have to use magic then. He didn't want to kill anybody though. He was tired of killing. A few men pulled out daggers as they surrounded him, snapping at him but at the same time keeping fearfully at bay like a pack of dogs cornering a wolf. They wanted to get him, but were wary of his reputation. All they needed to attack was for one of them to take the bold initiative and strike first. But Tristan wasn't going to let them do that. He closed his eyes and swiftly called up a wave of energy which rang out from all around him, knocking back all the men who had surrounded him. The room quieted again in surprise.

"It's the mage warden!" somebody yelled in fear. The men clambered up from the floor, angrier now. Before they could try anything again Tristan decided to send them another warning. He struck a table with a lightning bolt, sending pieces of the table flying through the air. Everybody ducked for cover.

"I'm leaving now. Follow me at your own peril." Tristan warned as he backed away slowly, and then turned to walk through the door. The cold, crisp air, hit him like a shock. He sighted Brenna nervously pacing back and forth next to Loki. She looked up in surprise and relief as he walked toward them. He bent down to ruffle Loki's head.

"Are you alright?" Brenna asked Tristan. He nodded. He was suddenly in a foul mood. If it hadn't been for Brenna, nobody would have recognized him. Now he had to leave Gwaren. He didn't know where to go. He certainly didn't want to go back to Vigil's Keep, or Denerim. Gwaren had been one of the only towns where he could wander freely. In other places, people might more easily recognize him. He stalked off down the road angrily, whistling for Loki to follow. Brenna shadowed them.

"I'm sorry, Tristan, I didn't mean for that to happen…" she said.

"Well, it did." Tristan replied, a hint of annoyance in his voice. "I don't know how you ever survived on your own…"

"I didn't need your help. I've gotten myself out of countless situations like that before. You didn't have to play the hero." Brenna angrily retorted. Tristan turned around to glare at her.

"I didn't _play_ the hero. I am not a hero. I never was and I never will be. I was simply helping a friend," he snapped at her. Brenna regarded him pitiably. She had touched a raw nerve. She regretted her words.

"I am sorry. Thank you." Brenna said. Tristan only shrugged, turned around and continued walking towards the Brecilian passage. Brenna silently followed him. She wondered where he was going. She was still in the dark as to why he was here in the first place. He had said nothing to her these past two days. She had suspected that he had only acted like everything was alright. But now he was in a foul mood. If he considered her a friend, then why wouldn't he let her help him?

…

They had been walking for a few hours, the air turning colder as they left the Brecilian Passage and entered into a large open plain. Brenna watched as her breath appeared before her, like steam from a boiling pot of water. She was tired and wanted to stop.

"Where are you going?" she called out to Tristan in front of her. He stopped and turned around to look her way.

"Oh, you're still following me?" he grinned in reply. "It had gotten so quiet I thought it was just me and Loki."

"Oh sod off." Brenna replied with exasperation. She crossed her arms over her chest to show her frustration. "I'm tired."

"Then rest." Tristan gestured to the ground.

"Are you jesting? You expect me to just sit on the cold ground?"

"Why not? I do it all the time. Look, I'll do it now." Tristan lobbed himself onto the ground in a lounging position. Brenna rolled her eyes.

"Look if you don't know where to go, just come to my home. It is not far from here. It is certainly better than sitting on the ground." Brenna suggested.

"But I thought you were tired now. Rest, Brenna!" Loki sauntered over to Tristan and tried to sit on him. "Look, even Loki doesn't mind a little rest on the ground… well on me anyway."

"You're avoiding answering me." Brenna pouted. Tristan chuckled. Teasing Brenna was more fun than he thought possible. _Maker, she's cute when she's angry_. He considered her question and her invitation. He didn't know where to go. He knew where he _didn't_ want to go. And that left him with not too many options. He could go to Redcliffe, but they would surely recognize him there. He could wander around the Bannorn for a bit, but many of the banns would surely recognize him. Brenna had invited him to her home. That didn't sound too bad actually. He could go with her, at least for a while. He didn't want to overstay his welcome… though somehow he didn't think Brenna would mind if he never left.

"Alright, alright." Tristan pushed Loki off of him and sat up. "I'll go with you to your home. Lead on, m'lady."

"Good. Let's go. We can make it there by nightfall." Brenna smiled as she headed toward her home. Tristan and Loki followed.

They walked quietly through the fields, Brenna shivering visibly in the cold. If Tristan had a cloak, he would have offered it to her, even though she already had one. But he hadn't gotten around to buying a new one. And then he left Gwaren abruptly. He rubbed his own arms to try and get some life in them. As he did this he watched Brenna, her long legs striding gracefully through the tall grass. She really did remind him of a cat. Her movements were so careful, yet fluid and effortless. Eyeing the long field ahead of them, Tristan had an idea for warming up.

"You have long legs for a halfling." Tristan remarked casually. Brenna did not stop walking but turned her head sideways to give him a questioning look.

"Should I be flattered, or offended at your words?" she asked.

"Such beautiful legs." Tristan mused aloud. "I wonder if they are as swift and powerful as they are lovely." This time Brenna stopped, arching a brow and grinning mischievously at Tristan.

"Are you challenging me to a race? Because there is no way that you could outrun me. You are way too large to be fast." Brenna stated daringly.

_She fell for it._ Tristan shrugged his shoulders. "If you are so sure that you would outrun me, then there is no point in racing, is there?"

"Oh come now, don't be a coward and back out. You started this." Brenna challenged.

"If you insist." Tristan acquiesced. Grinning, he burst into a run through the fields.

"Why that cheat…" Brenna muttered as she too erupted into a swift run, hiking up her skirt and trying to catch up to Tristan. Loki ran barking after them both, wagging his stub of a tail.

Tristan felt his blood pumping, running through his body, warming him. He felt re-energized as his feet pounded on the ground and he breathed in the cool air. He looked over his shoulder to see if Brenna was following. And then because he wasn't paying attention to what was ahead, his foot pounded not onto the ground, but onto ice, which cracked under his weight and caused him to fall forward into the frozen, murky waters of a pond. The water sent a shock of cold through his body and he was momentarily confused. His face was in the water. It wasn't deep; he was able to push himself up onto his knees.

Brenna caught up, gasping at the sight of Tristan sitting on his knees in a pond. "Tristan!" she exclaimed. She ran close to the pond, but he halted her, an apologetic smile covering his face.

"It's only a pond. Don't help me, you'll get wet." Tristan said as he stood up and dragged himself, dripping wet, out of the pond. Now he was really going to be cold. He supposed he deserved it. He had run off like a buffoon. "I can be so clumsy sometimes…"

"Yes, but now you are soaking wet – in the cold. Take my cloak." Brenna offered as she came to his side, beginning to pull off her cloak. Tristan shook his head furiously.

"No, no. You need it."

"Please take it Tristan. This is no time to be stubborn." Brenna pushed.

"I'm not being stubborn. I insist you keep it. Besides were almost there, no?" Tristan gestured to the far off scenery. In front of them to the north were plains, and to the east, rolling hills and behind those, the endless forest.

"Let's at least make a fire to dry you…" Brenna suggested.

"No." Tristan firmly replied. "We're almost there…"

"As you wish then." Brenna regarded him with calm indignation. Why did men have to act so tough?

"I'll be fine." Tristan reassured her, as if he had read her thoughts on her face. "We are almost there."

…

But they weren't almost there. It took another two hours in the cold. If the sun had been around, Tristan might have dried, but it hid behind the clouds refusing to show itself. The wind picked up, making the cold feel even colder. Brenna cursed his stubbornness.

At first, Tristan chattered to Brenna, an edge of anxiety audible in his voice. He blabbered on uncharacteristically about things he had seen and done. This only made Brenna worry. She admitted that she didn't know him that well, but she did know that he was never one to talk just for the sake of hearing his voice. And then he grew quiet and slowed down his brisk pace to a dull trot. Brenna finally had enough; she tore off her cloak and covered him with it. She took the chance to touch his face – it was so cold. His lips were blue. Even with her cloak over his shoulders, he shivered. Brenna said a silent prayer for the Maker to watch over him.

By the time they got to the farmstead, Brenna almost had to drag him through the door. Loki seemed to sense that something was wrong and he whined and paced around the inside of the old house. It was cold in the house. She needed to make a fire, quickly.

"Take off your clothes, now!" she commanded Tristan, who stood in the middle of the house looking dazed. Brenna went to find some dry, warm clothes for Tristan to put on and gathered all the blankets she could find.

"Yes dear." Tristan answered through chattering teeth, grinning impishly at her as he stripped off all of his clothes.

_Oh Maker, he's delirious._ Brenna thought as she went over to the fireplace and furiously attempted to start a fire. If only Tristan were sane, he could just conjure up a fire. Why couldn't he have done that right away? Why did he have to be so stubborn? She got a spark going and then slowly a fire grew. Brenna turned her attention back to Tristan who was still standing in the middle of the room but was now naked. She grabbed a large woolen blanket and placed it over his shoulders, focusing her gaze modestly on his face. She handed him the dry clothes that she had found. As he accepted the clothes, he pulled Brenna closer to him and hugged her, placing his hands on her buttocks. Brenna slapped his hands away and broke free.

"Focus Tristan!"

"Aw, come on Leliana. Aren't you glad to see me again? You're not in the mood?" Tristan complained. 

_Leliana? By the Maker. _She needed to warm him up and soon before he lost all his wits. "Put your clothes on."

"Look at the nice fire. We can cuddle…" Tristan chattered on as he gazed toward the fireplace, entranced by the warm glow of the fire.

"Put your clothes on!" Brenna commanded impatiently. She steered him closer to the fire.

"But I'm hot." Tristan complained.

"No, you're not. You're cold." Brenna replied sternly. Maybe she should just go along with his delirium? As long as it didn't get out of hand, it might get him to listen to her. "Do as I say, love, and we'll see what comes next."

"Fine, fine. But stop treating me like a baby. You're definitely not my mother…she has blonde hair and elf ears…" Tristan said as he fingered her hair and grazed her ears. Brenna wasn't sure what to think at that. He was delirious. What was he talking about? "When did you get black hair, Lel?"

"Tristan, just stay quiet." Brenna gently reproached. She sat him by the fire and wrapped countless blankets around him, rubbing him and holding him to make him warm again. Soon, his lips were not as blue, but he closed his eyes in tiredness. "Don't fall asleep…"

But he did.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Melisende and Ronan had finally reached Gwaren. They had been walking for days, unsure if they were heading in the right direction. Melisende had never been to Gwaren, and Ronan had rarely ever wandered away from his clan until now. And even when he had been away from the forest, it had been with his clan. He had never had to find his own way. He had been lucky that he had even made it to Vigil's Keep as quickly as he did.

As they had skirted the forest that contained his home, he had briefly contemplated returning for a quick check on his mother. But he had decided against that. He couldn't face his father empty handed. Moreover, he had to admit, he was afraid that the worst would have happened while he was away. Ronan once again wished that his father had sent somebody else on this wild goose chase. Surely, his mother would have benefitted greatly from his presence. His father could easily have sent his cousin Rhys to find Tristan. But for some still unfathomable reason he had sent him.

Gwaren was not as impressive as Denerim, but it was a lot cleaner. And nobody looked oddly upon Ronan as they walked through the town. No doubt they were accustomed to seeing Dalish elves. Being so close to the forest, there were occasions when a Dalish would come to town for one reason or another. Really, Ronan found that they looked oddly upon Melisende. A woman, walking confidently through town with two swords on her back and one wrapped carefully in a bundle and strung over her shoulder, must have been a rare sight for them. For why else would they stare curiously at her?

"Where should we look?" Ronan asked Melisende as he strutted alongside her.

"I suppose we should try the inn. Tristan would need a place to stay, and unless he has family or friends in Gwaren that I know nothing of, then he would surely be at the inn." Melisende replied as she surveyed the town around her, shivering a little at the cold.

Ronan highly doubted that Tristan had _family_ in Gwaren. He couldn't believe that he would have any friends here either. The fact that the loggers had made their way all the way to Denerim just to sell Tristan's sword didn't bode well in Ronan's opinion, but he kept his mouth shut. He could tell on their way here that Melisende probably thought the same, though she had mentioned that it probably meant that Tristan was still in Gwaren. _Possibly robbed and left for dead_, Ronan had thought. He told himself to shut up and then replied to Melisende. "Let's go to the inn then."

…

The inn was quiet, warm, and smelt faintly of cedar wood. Melisende and Ronan made their way to the front counter, but nobody was there at the moment. Ronan sighed with impatience. Melisende sent him a look of calm assurance before calling out politely at the side of a closed door. She turned back to Ronan.

"Patience, Ronan," she said.

Ronan shook his head. "Every minute we waste looking for him is another minute passed with my mother in pain. I swear…"

Ronan was cut off by the creaking open of the door. A wiry thin man with graying hair came walking through the door, leaning on a cane for support. "Yes?" he asked them. "Can I help you?"

"We are hoping that you can." Melisende replied.

"Are you looking for a room?" the innkeeper inquired as he gazed at the two of them with restrained interest. Melisende shook her head.

"No, we are looking for a friend. We have reason to believe he is here in town and we thought he might be staying here." Melisende explained.

"Oh? I'm afraid my inn is quite empty at the moment. There are only a handful of people who travel to Gwaren this close to the beginning of winter," the innkeeper shrugged and flashed them an apologetic look.

Ronan cursed under his breath. The fool was not even in Gwaren. Perhaps he never had been here. Just because the loggers were from Gwaren didn't mean that they had gotten their hands on the sword in this town. He stalked over to the innkeeper and slammed his fist onto the wooden counter. "Tell me, was the Warden Commander ever here?"

The innkeeper looked surprised and then frowned at Ronan. "Please don't do that again."

"Tell me." Ronan growled back. Melisende gently placed an arm in front of Ronan and pushed him back slightly, sending him a warning look.

"Apologies for my friend here, but, any information would be helpful." Melisende said calmly to the innkeeper. He continued to frown.

"Why are you looking for the Warden Commander?" the innkeeper asked curiously.

"I am a Grey Warden. I have a message for him." Melisende told the innkeeper. Ronan shook his head and backed away to pace impatiently in the small space in front of the counter. _A message? That fool has run away from his duties without telling anyone. Why was she lying? To protect his lousy reputation? _Ronan thought.

The innkeeper looked shocked to find out that Melisende was a Grey Warden. He fingered his chin in thought as he looked her over. "If that is true, then you'd best not advertise that fact. Around here, most people care not for the Grey Wardens and look upon them unkindly."

Melisende sighed. "I appreciate the warning, but… you haven't answered our question. Was the Commander ever here?"

The innkeeper tapped the counter and whistled. "A tip would be nice first."

"By the gods…" Ronan muttered in exasperation. Melisende reluctantly reached into her pouch and fished for some coins. She placed a few silvers onto the counter.

"Would this do?" she furiously asked the innkeeper. She was beginning to lose her patience now too.

"I suppose," the innkeeper sighed, grabbing at the coins and placing them out of view, but clearly still hesitant to say a word.

"Look here. You're lucky that you're old and use a cane, otherwise I would have throttled the answer out of you already. I've been brought up to respect my elders and protect the weak, but right now, you are cutting it close and…" Melisende threatened as politely as she could. Ronan couldn't help but chuckle as the innkeeper held his hands up in submission.

"It will do," the innkeeper quickly babbled, interrupting any further threats from Melisende.

"Now, then, kindly tell us." Melisende gestured for him to continue.

"The Grey Warden Commander was here. He was staying at this inn, in fact, up until a few days ago. There was some trouble at the tavern and he left. I wasn't even aware that he was the Warden Commander. That's all I know. Now, please leave." The innkeeper shooed them off. Sending the innkeeper a murderous look, Ronan only too happily left the inn. Melisende followed.

Once outside, Ronan kicked at the dirt in frustration. "Now how are we going to find him? He could be anywhere! Again we have to start from scratch!"

Melisende took a seat on a bench and closed her eyes. "Somebody will know something. We just have to ask around."

Ronan joined her on the bench. "Why do you care so much for this man? He is nothing but a coward, running away from his duties, from his fa… friends." Ronan had almost said _family_. It bothered him that Tristan had a loyal friend like Melisende, and even the King. He didn't understand it. What was so special about Tristan?

"You have no right to say things like that." Melisende countered, but not as angrily as Ronan would have expected. She made no move to explain her feelings. She just sat there and watched the people of Gwaren pass to and fro, ignoring Ronan's agitation. Then she stood up. "Let's check out the tavern."

…

Nobody at the tavern could tell them anything useful. Melisende had taken the innkeeper's advice to heart and avoided mentioning that she was a Grey Warden. It was a good thing too, because the people at the tavern mostly talked of the incident with disdain. Apparently, Tristan had come to the defense of a woman, starting a brawl. Then he, _Teyrn Loghain's murderer_, they would say with the same contempt, had used magic, _magic_, the patrons would exclaim in disbelief and fearfully point to the evidence – a broken table, shattered into pieces by a lightning bolt. They would say nothing else and wave Melisende and Ronan away.

They found themselves once again sitting on a bench outside in the streets of Gwaren. It was late in the day, they were unsure of what to do next. Melisende was relieved to find that Tristan was still alive, for she had feared him dead when they had found his sword in the Denerim marketplace. She had once thought that only death could part him from his sword, but she had been wrong. She found herself questioning if she even knew Tristan at all. They had travelled together for over a year during the Blight, and then had continued to fight side by side for nearly two years after that. Surely that was enough time to know someone, right?

However, the more she thought about it, the more she realized that she hadn't even known herself for a time. She had hidden away from the world for a while, losing herself to drink and despair. But then things had turned around for her, with the help of her friends. So, if she hadn't even known herself for much of that time, then how could she claim to truly know Tristan? Perhaps Alistair was right, maybe Tristan just needed time to himself. He hadn't after all, stopped fighting or leading since, well, since Ostagar. And perhaps Morrigan had dealt him a hard card. Maybe he just needed time…

She stared off into the marketplace, business slowing to a trickle this late in the day. She spied a young woman with a baby being fawned over by a group of older women. They cooed and clucked over the baby loudly, like a bunch of hens.

"Why do women fawn over babies as if they are more than just squirmy, drooling, noisy, bags of turds?" Ronan harrumphed beside her. He was still quite frustrated at having to start over the search and he was taking it out on anything that annoyed him.

"I don't know." Melisende quietly replied, staring at the scene wistfully. Ronan looked at her doubtfully, but said nothing else. Had he said something wrong?

Melisende felt a sudden pang creep into her womb. She felt its emptiness. A moment of regret passed as she realized that woman could have been her… in another life. She was a Grey Warden. Nathaniel was a Grey Warden. It would take a miracle to conceive a baby… but what kind of life would it have anyway? She pushed the sudden feeling, the unexpected moment away. She turned to Ronan with interest. "Do you have children yet?"

Ronan turned to her, a horrified look on his face. "By the gods, no!"

Melisende chuckled. "I should have known by the way you described them."

"There is yet time before I have to chain myself to one woman. Luckily I haven't gotten any with child yet, or my parents might have forced me to bond with her." Ronan replied, full of mischief.

"Tristan has a child." Melisende blurted out. She regretted it immediately. It was supposed to be a secret and now Ronan knew. And who knew what Ronan's true purpose in fetching Tristan was.

Ronan looked at her with surprise. "He does?"

"Yes… that was the reason he went off in the first place. But it was supposed to be a secret… so forget I ever said anything." Melisende sent him a pleading look.

"I… understand. I will keep my mouth shut." Ronan agreed. He looked thoughtful and Melisende cursed her tongue. She was usually good about keeping secrets. She didn't know why she had revealed this one. She stood up suddenly, eager to change the subject now. "Shall we get a move on?"

"What do we do now?" Ronan asked, standing up in imitation.

"We see if anyone else knows more…"

…

"Why are the Grey Wardens so hated in this town?" Ronan asked as they stopped by the docks. The sun was setting and they had made no progress. Ronan was very frustrated. Nobody knew anything or if they did, they didn't want to say anything.

"Teyrn Loghain was a hero once. And then he betrayed the Grey Wardens at Ostagar. We couldn't let it go. Tristan killed him in a duel at the Landsmeet. He couldn't be left alive. The unity of Ferelden in face of the Blight was at stake. Loghain had grabbed power when he shouldn't have. He was crazy…" Melisende explained with a hint of regret. Ronan frowned. So Tristan was not universally loved, even if he had saved the world.

"I guess every hero has his day." Ronan replied thoughtfully. "So you were there? During the Blight?"

"Yes." Melisende answered with surprise. "I thought you knew."

"Why would I? My clan left Ferelden for a time." Ronan gazed at the sea. He was tired. He wanted this search to be over. He wanted to go home. He exhaled loudly. His hopelessness must have shown for Melisende placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Don't give up Ronan. We will find Tristan," she comforted him. He closed his eyes and let the cool breeze wash over his face. He felt a strand of hair come loose from its knot and blow into his face. He was tempted to go home and admit defeat to his father. Certainly, his mother would benefit from his presence. If she was even still lucid. He turned around abruptly to face Melisende.

"I don't give up easily… but…"

"I understand; your mother needs you." It was Melisende's turn to look sorrowful. "I would give anything to have my mother back in my life…"

Ronan gave Melisende a puzzled look. "Your mother is dead?"

Melisende nodded and with pain visible in her expression, continued. "My father too."

"I am sorry." Ronan said, brushing his hand along the length of her arm. She stared at him in silence for a moment. Ronan wondered if she would continue the search. Then he realized what he was doing and quickly removed his hand from Melisende's arm. She didn't seem to notice his sudden discomfort.

"I will continue looking for Tristan. If it is so important that he gets to your mother, I will send him over when I find him." Melisende offered.

"_When_? I hope your confidence is not misplaced." Ronan grinned. "In any case, that would be great. If it is not too late."

Melisende smiled back confidently. "I will do my best."

Ronan stood awkwardly in front of her. He wasn't sure what to say next. "So… I guess this is goodbye?"

"For now." Melisende seemed to hesitate for a second before she seemingly pounced on Ronan with a hug. Ronan was a little too stunned to react right away. Then he returned the gesture, squeezing her tightly. "Stay strong, Ronan," she whispered into his ear before releasing him.

"Mythal protect you Melisende. _Dareth shiral_." Ronan said as he turned around and walked away. _Safe journey_. He felt a tugging at his chest. Leaving the _shem_ woman was harder than he thought. Astonished at his own feelings he hastily made his retreat from the docks, afraid to look back. He had gotten to know Melisende during their brief time together. He would even say they had become friends. He never thought that he could become friends with a _shem_. He realized with a sharp pang that he would miss her. However, he let those thoughts float to the back of his mind. His mother needed him. His father might or might not berate him for coming home empty handed, but he had tried his best. No one could blame him for Tristan's own cowardice.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Ronan weaved swiftly in and out of the late day crowd on the streets. Everyone seemed to be making their way home. The sky was getting darker and the air was getting colder. It was time to sup one last time before retiring for the day. Ronan was also headed home. The thought drove him forward in excitement, but also in dread. He had failed to find Tristan. He could only hope that his mother was not as sick as they all had feared. He would never forgive himself otherwise.

As he contemplated his homecoming, he nearly stumbled as a beggar jumped in front of him, appearing from a dark and narrow alleyway like a shade. Ronan twirled around and caught his footing. He snarled angrily at the grey-haired beggar. "Watch it old man!"

"Spare some change, boy?" the beggar grabbed Ronan's arm while holding out his other in a pitiful plea.

"Out of my way!" Ronan threatened, shaking off the beggar. The beggar, however, clutched at him again.

"Not even one silver, for a veteran, a Night Elf?" the beggar continued to make his case. Ronan grew frustrated. The fact that the beggar was a Night Elf meant nothing to him. He knew that they had been an archer wing fighting under Loghain years ago, but that was all. He turned to the beggar and really looked at him. The beggar was old, wearing threadbare clothing, and he _was_ an elf – a Dalish elf by the tattoos on his face. _Probably exiled from his people_, Ronan thought, _for why else would a Dalish leave his clan_?

"I've no coins at all. You would know that most Dalish care nothing for _money_." Ronan said with contempt. He tried to move on, but the beggar was adamant.

"Then how do you eat? Surely you could spare something for me…" the beggar pushed.

"The gods provide me with all the necessities." he snapped, glaring indignantly at the beggar.

The beggar sneered, showing off quite a few missing front teeth. "Words of wisdom from the young," the beggar replied sarcastically.

Ronan grunted, not impressed with being delayed by this dreadfully annoying beggar. "And you, you have turned your back on the gods and now you beg from humans on the streets of a pathetic city such as this."

"Oh, how you know it all. For shame!" the beggar cried out dramatically. "If only I had been as wise as you are when I was your age."

"Mock me if you like, _len'alas lath'din_, but know this: I can see in front of me what happens when Dalish leave their clans and place their trust in humans, fight for _shem _ideals, in a _shem_ war. Believe me," Ronan said, looking over the beggar with disgust, "it is not a pretty sight."

The pushy beggar smiled mischievously and shook his head. "And yet, not one hour ago I saw you wandering these very pathetic streets with a human lady, asking questions, looking for the Grey Warden Commander, a human. If only you hadn't been so rude…"

Ronan was surprised. Who was this blasted beggar? Had he been watching Ronan and Melisende all this time? "Continue talking old man…"

"Oh, I would have told you what I know, happily would have, if you had not been so rude…" the beggar shrugged and turned around to walk away. Ronan frowned. If the beggar really did know something… he caught the beggar by the arm and dragged him out of sight of the late day crowd and into the darkened alleyway.

"You started it. _Halam sahlin_. This ends now. Tell me." Ronan demanded menacingly.

"I'd like something in return, first." The beggar laid out his terms. Ronan inwardly cursed. How did he know what the beggar had to say would be worth anything he had? He certainly didn't have anything of worth, besides his sword, shield, and light armor.

"I told you already, I've no coin." Ronan stressed.

"Your cloak, give me your cloak. The cold is coming. I need a new cloak," the beggar made a show of shivering.

"Mythal protect you if you have nothing useful to tell me." Ronan threatened as he reluctantly removed his cloak and handed it over to the beggar. He felt like he was about to be cheated. Suddenly, he wished Melisende was there. She had proven herself to be quite the bully. Ronan, on the other hand, seemed to garner only snickers when he attempted to intimidate his way through something. What was the deal with that?

The beggar quickly snatched up the cloak and placed it around his shoulders. He cleared his throat and began speaking quietly, "Thank you. You may be rude, but I always keep my word."

"Just get on with it." Ronan waved him on.

"The Warden Commander was with a woman merchant by the name of Brenna Redpath. She often comes to Gwaren to trade," the beggar explained.

"And where is she now? Where does she live?" Ronan asked impatiently.

"She is from somewhere around Lothering, not far from the Brecilian Forest."  
Ronan frowned. "Lothering was destroyed in the Blight."

"Ah," the beggar answered, "but ask around for the halfling, for it is rumored her father was a Dalish elf. Local folk will know where exactly it is that she lives."

Ronan was taken aback. So, this woman that Tristan had been seen with was a half-Dalish, just like Tristan? _Interesting, indeed_, Ronan thought. Her father, could he have been from Ronan's own clan? He decided that it couldn't be, because he would have known of such a person. Though, he had to admit, that didn't mean anything since his own mother had kept Tristan a secret from everyone. "And did Tris-, the Commander leave with this Brenna woman?"

"Yes. Like I said, ask around for her and you will find the Commander," the beggar elf replied.

"_Ma serannas_, beggar." In spite of his earlier annoyance, Ronan grinned excitedly at the Night Elf veteran. He had lost his cloak, but he had a new lead, and with that, a new hope in finding Tristan. He eagerly turned around and ran into the increasing darkness to find Melisende.

…

Melisende flung herself onto the bed, burying her face into the pillows and squeezing her eyes shut. She was more tired than she thought. She rolled onto her back and winced in pain as she had accidently come to rest on the wrapped sword. She sat up and grabbed the package. Looking at it fondly, she unwrapped the bundle. Vigilance appeared, gleaming up at her. She still couldn't believe Tristan would part with his sword. She sighed loudly as she ran a finger along the flat edge of the blade.

"If only swords could speak of the secrets they held… where are you now Tristan?" she mused aloud as she carefully re-wrapped the sword and placed it to the side.

Melisende was completely at a loss of what her next move would be. She had been lucky to even track Tristan this far. She had been in the right place at the right time in the Denerim marketplace. How many lucky leads could she find? She doubted it would get any easier to find her lost friend. She wondered, as she yawned, if Tristan, being a former Circle mage, still had a phylactery. Or was it destroyed when he became a Grey Warden? It was something to think about. Perhaps she could go to the Circle. Why hadn't she thought of this sooner?

It was because of Ronan, of course. He had lead her around in an urgent rush, impatiently second guessing every move they made, cursing every bad break they ran into, and then speedily moving on without much thought. Funny, she missed the lout. It had only been a few hours since they had parted. He was brash and cocky, but she had seen hints of a gentler side. She had even come to trust him. Which was saying something, for Melisende had a difficult time putting her trust into strangers ever since the assassination attempt. She silently vowed to do everything she could to track Tristan down and bring him to Ronan's mother. For whatever reason, Ronan thought that Tristan would be able to cure his mother. A little odd, considering Tristan's skills lay in other sorts of magic and he only dabbled in healing magic when Anders was not around.

Melisende stretched out and told her mind to slow down. There would be time enough in the morning to ponder all these things. She began to undress, removing her leather armor and boots and tossing them carelessly onto the floor of the inn room she had rented for the night. She rolled up her sleeves and thought about removing her shirt completely, but it was a little cold, and the blankets on the bed looked a little ratty and hole-y. Remembering a story Zevran had once told her about Denerim's infested lodgings she shuddered involuntarily and then tossed the blankets onto the floor. She might be a warrior able to stand up to the ugliest and scariest darkspawn, but if there was one thing that gave her pause it was bugs.

Satisfied that the bed was not infested, she lay back and brought her right arm over her eyes. And then she gasped, sat up, and stared at her arm in horror. There was a small patch of purplish blue on her inner arm. At first glance, she thought it was some sort of bug. Then she touched it, felt the roughness of it, and realized it was her own skin.

"Maker's breath," she whispered in astonishment. Was she transforming, being overrun by the taint already? She rubbed the spot, hoping in vain that it was just dried up muck or _something_. She even would have been happy to find it was bug droppings. But no, it was still her skin. Try as she might, she could not hold her sobs in. They racked her to the core and she cried uncontrollably. "It's too soon…"

She sat transfixed by the small patch. She tried to think of all she knew of the taint and its spread. She knew that from the moment she drank the vial of darkspawn blood that her time was limited. Twenty or perhaps even thirty years before it overcame her, according to Alistair. Was that what he had said? It had always been an unpleasant subject, had always been left as an afterthought, and stored in the back of her mind. She couldn't remember if Duncan had begun to change. Though she didn't think it was talked about much. But she had only done the Joining two or three years ago. Surely it was too soon? She sobbed as reality overcame her. It would happen after all. Somehow she thought she was immune to the unpleasantness of being a Grey Warden. She wasn't. She thought of the Calling – having to go and die alone in the deep roads. She never liked the underground. How in the world was she ever supposed to do that?

She rocked back and forth in a panic. She wanted Nathaniel. He would comfort her. Calm her down. Oh, how she missed his sweet and soothing voice, his gentle eyes, and his reassuring touch.

An incessant banging on the door of her room broke her from her thoughts. Melisende quickly stood up, wiping her eyes. "Who's there?" she called out.

"It's me, Ronan," came the reply from the other side of the door.

_Maker, what is he doing here? I can't let him see me like this._ Melisende walked slowly to the door. She smoothed her hair and clothes down and took a deep breath. She opened the door. Ronan came crashing through excitedly.

"I've been looking all over for you! I was on my way out of the city, right? Then this beggar comes up to me asking for coin. I tell him to bugger off as I have no coin. Then, even though I was annoyed to no end and impatient to be on my way, we get to talking. He tells me that he saw Tristan leave the city, with a woman. She's a traveling merchant named Brenna. She lives just outside of Lothering. So, that is probably where he is!" Ronan exclaimed breathlessly.

"That's wonderful." Melisende replied. Ronan regarded her with a puzzled look. No doubt he expected her to be more enthusiastic about this new piece of information. Melisende tried to look away as he scrutinized her. _He must have noticed my dried up tears, my puffy eyes…_

"Are you all right?" Ronan asked her, a little awkwardly. She nodded her head, trying to reassure him and then turned and walked back to the bed, taking a seat.

"I don't believe you." Ronan quietly said, following her to the bed. He sat down near her. Melisende couldn't help but notice how uncomfortable he looked. _He probably isn't used to being kind_, she angrily thought. No, that wasn't fair to him; she quickly took the snappy thought back.

"What's wrong?" he ventured again after she said nothing. Melisende wasn't planning on letting loose her feelings, but she did. Maybe it was the concern Ronan was showing for her, even though it obviously annoyed him to get into the wimpy "share your feelings with me" routine. She held up her arm. Ronan looked at her, utterly perplexed.

"I don't get it." Ronan admitted after staring at her arm for a few seconds. Melisende sighed and then pointed to the patch of purplish blue skin.

Ronan shook his head and then grinned playfully. "I still don't get it. A tiny blemish? It's the size of my little finger." He grabbed her arm and placed the tip of his little finger on the spot. Melisende quickly drew her arm away, embarrassed that he would touch the disgusting thing. But he didn't look disgusted. Instead he smirked at her teasingly. "I didn't think you were that vain."

Melisende let out a little laugh and playfully shoved Ronan in the shoulder. "No, silly. Do you know anything of Grey Wardens?"

Ronan shrugged. "They fight darkspawn?"

"But do you know why the Grey Wardens have the upper hand over others when it comes to fighting darkspawn?" Melisende probed further. Why was she doing this? She should just change the subject.

"I know nothing of the Grey Wardens beyond that they end the Blights. Why them? Damned if I know." Ronan admitted.

"It has to do with who we are. We are… tainted. Maker, I shouldn't even be telling you this…" Melisende turned away from Ronan.

"What do you mean, you're tainted?" Ronan gently turned her back towards him, curious now; she could see that she would have to continue her explanation.

"To defeat the darkspawn, a Grey Warden must become like the vile creatures. Suffice it to say, from the moment we become a Grey Warden, we are fated to die before our time, in one way or another." Melisende tried her best to explain without giving away all the secrets of her order.

Ronan frowned at her. "You are speaking in riddles, woman. Are you trying to tell me that this little blemish is … for the love of the gods I have no idea what you are trying to tell me." Ronan exclaimed in frustration. Melisende was about to continue, but Ronan stopped her. "If you don't want to talk about it, you don't have to."

"It's not that I don't want to talk about it… it's just… it's… I'm sorry."

Ronan placed a comforting arm around Melisende's shoulders and gave her a squeeze. "Don't worry about it. Tomorrow, you'll wake up and be your usual spitfire self."

"How do you know?" Melisende looked at Ronan with a pout.

"Because tomorrow, I will be my usual insufferable self and you will have a hard time not showing me up as we try to find our way to the home of this Brenna woman." Ronan grinned.

"You're continuing the search, then?" Melisende looked and felt pleasantly surprised. Ronan nodded. She wouldn't have to continue on her own. She felt a little better already. "Good."

Ronan released her and then stretched out and yawned, patting the bed with interest. "It's very cold outside and I have bartered away my cloak. Do you mind if I join you tonight?"

Melisende regarded Ronan askance. Did he just ask to join her, in the bed? Ronan laughed.

"On my honor, I assure you, I am so tired that I can do nothing but sleep," he reassured her.

Melisende didn't realize she was holding her breath. She let it out in relief. "Alright then. I suppose a good night's sleep is just what I need."

They lay back, fidgeting a bit as they tried to get comfortable. "Besides, do you really think I would _touch_ a _shem_?" Ronan muttered sarcastically. Melisende chuckled. She could have retorted with a "you already touched me, though not in the way you're thinking" but she decided to ignore him. Let him act macho. He had already shown her how normal and caring he could be. Bit by bit his walls were coming down. Melisende smiled with satisfaction as she shut her eyes to wait for sleep.

…

In the middle of the night, Ronan awoke with a start. He had been dreaming of something, which left his mind as soon as he woke up. He cursed the gods for taking away his vision before he could remember it. And then he saw that he was lying very close to Melisende, his front snuggled into her back, actually, with his arms around the woman's waist and her arms resting comfortably on his. He glanced at her face; she was so calm now in her sleep. He was embarrassed to find himself in this position. He thought of turning around or pushing her away, but he rather liked the feel of her body against his. It felt… soothing. He closed his eyes and willed himself back to sleep.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Tristan slowly opened his eyes, blinking away the deep fatigue that had settled over him and which also refused to go away. Everything around him was blurry and fuzzy. He sat up, his head pounding, aching, and he gently shook his head to try and see clearly. But nothing happened. He looked around him. He was in a small house. And then he realized that there was no roof.

He clutched at his head in worry. "Don't tell me I'm in the Fade," he muttered to himself. As the words left his mouth, somebody beside him stirred. He glanced at his side and gasped in surprise as he noticed the shock of red hair, the delicate curve of a naked shoulder. The woman turned towards him, her blue eyes changing in the bleak lighting of the room with no roof.

"Leliana?" Tristan asked, puzzled.

She laughed and sat up, the bed covers falling off her and revealing a pearlescent pair of breasts. "Of course. Who did you think it would be?"

Tristan sighed. He was dreaming. No, this was more than a dream. He felt real. He _was_ in the Fade. What demon had trapped him here? Leliana, or whoever, whatever she was, reached over him and pinned him down, climbing on top of him. She kissed him slowly and seductively. _Oh Maker_. Tristan wanted to stop her but found himself desiring this more than anything. He let himself get lost in her embrace. Leliana pulled back, smiling at him suggestively and reaching toward his groin. It was then that Tristan glimpsed behind her the Black City in the sky.

He shoved her off of him. "Get away from me demon!"

Leliana looked hurt and pouted. "My love, what is wrong?" she attempted to come close to Tristan again, but he stood up and away from her, noticing that the bed had been floating above the floor all along.

"Don't speak of love to me, demon." Tristan threatened. Leliana again sidled up to Tristan, pressing into his side. Tristan closed his eyes. _Wake up, wake up from this nightmare_, he pleaded with his mind. It was no use. This demon was trying to possess him. He had to get rid of it.

"Would it be such a horrible thing to make love to me once again?" the demon in Leliana's form inquired of him. He shoved her away again, this time more forcefully.

"You cannot fool me demon. Let me go!" he retorted. Leliana shook her head and sighed. And then she was gone, the room faded away and he was outside, in a field. The demon was gone, for the moment. Tristan observed all around him. There was nothing to see.

"Papa! Papa!" came a child's cries from behind him. He turned around to look and was stunned as a little boy came running towards him, clutching a branch of wood and holding his arms out toward Tristan. Tristan backed away nervously, but the boy continued running towards him, launching himself onto Tristan, causing him to fall backwards onto the ground. The boy laughed and smiled, hugging Tristan fiercely.

"Papa, I've missed you!" the boy exclaimed. Tristan closed his eyes; he didn't want to see the boy. He refused to touch him. He felt the child's fingers pinch his cheek and giggle. "Papa, open your eyes!"

His heart pounding, Tristan shook his head, refusing to do as the boy said. "Please papa, I want to show you a magic trick mother taught me!"

"Get off me." Tristan quietly demanded. The boy made no move. Finally, Tristan couldn't take it anymore, he opened his eyes. The boy stared back at him, his eyes watering up, and a confused expression on his face.

"You don't want me, papa?" the boy asked. He looked every bit like Morrigan, except for his eyes. They were Tristan's own eyes. Tristan swallowed back a sob. This was his son. _No, no it is not him. It is a demon. _He wanted to push the boy away but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He suddenly and keenly realized how much he had wanted to be a part of his son's life. He felt the loss wholeheartedly and his chest hurt. His head throbbed in the same rhythm of his pounding heart.

"Don't you want to play, papa?" the boy asked him shyly. Tristan bit his lip in thought. Would it be so bad to just spend some time here in the Fade, with his son? _It's not your son, it is a demon's temptation,_ he reminded himself.

"Go away." He pleaded with the demon. The boy looked at him sadly.

"But papa, we could have so much fun. You could teach me everything you know about magic. You can make me a powerful mage," the boy pleaded in return.

"No, no." Tristan picked up the little boy, arose from the ground, and placed the boy as far away from him as possible. "Be gone."

The little boy began to cry. "Why don't you want me, papa?"

Tristan turned away from the sight. He couldn't bear it. A single tear escaped from his eyes. The little boy, his son, was a demon in disguise, but it hurt to look at him. He was reminded of himself, alone in the orphanage. But his son would not be alone. He had his mother. As cold as Morrigan could be, he had no doubt that she would love their son. He had already promised himself that if Morrigan did otherwise, he would rectify the situation. "Do not mock me, demon. Be gone!"

The little boy's cries turned into a sadistic cackle and Tristan watched as the field around him dissolved into a rocky emptiness – the true Fade. The demon appeared before him in its true form – a bluish purple, womanly form. A desire demon.

"You are no fun at all, mortal." The demon teased him, clutching at her breasts.

Tristan was revolted by the sight. "Let me go, now, or else…"

"Oh but I could give you what you want. And in return you could give me what I want…"

"I will not listen to your deal."

"You were tempted to believe in my visions. I could give you so much more…"

"At what cost, demon? You think I would allow you to possess me? To loose an abomination onto the world? I will never give in to you; you are wasting your time. Let me go or I will kill you." Tristan stated frustratingly.

The demon did not give up. Desire demons drove a hard bargain, tempting and tempting and refusing to give in, bargaining their way out of threats. "You should accept my offer. We could be so powerful. I could see the world. You could have your love, your son. You could save your mother…"  
"My mother?" Tristan asked, puzzled. What was the demon talking about? He was utterly fed up of talking.

"Yes, your mother…"

"Demon, I say this for the last time, be gone!" he threatened.

The demon sighed, finally giving up. She cackled and sent a wave of spirit magic toward Tristan. He ducked in time, avoiding getting hit. He was empty handed. He would have to call upon his magic to defeat the demon. She screamed and cast another spell at Tristan, this time it hit him and he was knocked backwards and enveloped in a painful wave. He angrily got up, casting cone of cold at the demon. She confused him, displaying herself many times over in a circle around him. He didn't know which of the demons was the real one. Well, he would kill all of them then.

Tristan cast a tempest storm, which hit all of the demon's doubles, causing her to scream in pain. She threw bolts of magic waves toward him; he managed to duck every time. He took his time taking out each double, calling upon all the primal magic he knew. When he felt drained of mana, he dipped into the lyrium veins lying around him. The demon grew weaker, the doubles were gone. He cast one last spell, a fireball, and watched the demon burn to nothing. It was gone. She would not possess him this day. He dropped to a heap on the ground, exhausted.

…

He woke with a start, kicking at nothing, his heart beating furiously inside his chest and sweat running down his body. He was breathless. As he caught his breath he took in his surroundings. There was no blurriness, no fuzziness to be found. He was awake. He was in the real world. He breathed a sigh of relief, calming himself down.

Brenna sat beside him and she gently shoved him back down with a look of concern. "Bad dreams?" she asked.

"More than you know." Tristan replied, his anxiousness subsiding. "How long was I out?"

"A day." Brenna replied.

_Only a day? It felt like forever, _he thought.

"How are you feeling?" Brenna inquired, placing a hand on his forehead. Tristan drew back. What was she fussing about?

"I'm fine." Tristan grumbled. His stomach, however, made a large rumbling sound. He grinned. "Just a little hungry…"

Brenna arose from his side slowly. She went to the kitchen and returned soon after with a steaming bowl. She handed it to Tristan.

"I say I'm hungry and you give me a bowl of soup?" he jokingly asked.

"Just eat it you stubborn mule." Brenna retorted. Tristan did as he was told and was quickly done with the soup. He had to admit, it was quite delicious. Certainly better than the stale piece of bread she had given to him the last time he was at her place.

"Why so quiet?" he asked Brenna as he placed the bowl to the side.

"You almost died, you stupid fool." Brenna answered with a serious look.

"Oh, right. I guess I should have started a fire as soon as I got wet." Tristan grinned. What had happened was slowly coming back to him. He _had_ been a stupid fool. But he had been anxious to get here. A little embarrassed, he remembered how he had thought Brenna was Leliana. "Sorry."

"It's not funny." Brenna crossed her arms and glared at Tristan.

Tristan shrugged. "In any case, thank you."

Brenna rolled her eyes. "I couldn't just leave you to die. Besides, you would have done the same for me."

"Oh, I don't know," Tristan said lightheartedly, "I find you terribly annoying."

Brenna opened her mouth in disbelief. She shoved Tristan gently. Without thinking, Tristan grabbed her arm, pulled her close, and covered her mouth with a kiss. Surprised, Brenna pulled back and clambered away, leaving Tristan's side.

Tristan immediately regretted the move. Why had he done that? He liked Brenna. He didn't want to lead her on. He knew how much she liked him. He didn't want to play games with her, nor use her. Not when things with Leliana were still up in the air. He had thought that he would never return to his old life, but the Fade had given him pause to reconsider. It had reawakened his desire for Leliana, for a family. He had thought he could live without those things, but now he no longer knew what he wanted.

…

A little while later, Tristan arose from the fireside and went to check on Brenna, who was sitting at a table, frowning at a piece of paper.

"What are you doing?" he asked her, pulling up a chair.

She looked up at him, startled from her thoughts. "Just looking over my accounts."

Tristan nodded. He gazed around the room awkwardly. It was messy, full of things. He caught sight of her pouch, lying open on the table, a glimpse of the necklace she had stolen from him years ago hanging out of it. She realized what he was looking at and quickly snatched the pouch, closing it.

"I'm sorry, Brenna." Tristan said.

"Don't be." Brenna shrugged. She stared again at her papers. They sat in silence for a few moments. Tristan sat up and walked over to the window. He noticed how close the farmstead was to Silas's clan. He remembered Brenna telling him that her father was an elf. He pondered this fact for a while, recalling what Siofra had told him. Suddenly, he became suspicious.

"What was your mother's name?" he asked out of the blue.

Surprised, Brenna looked up, a little puzzled too. "Adalia."

Tristan fingered his chin in thought. Siofra had stayed with a widow named Adalia while she was pregnant. "What was your father's name?"

"What's with the sudden interest?" Brenna asked, a little annoyed.

"Just curious." Tristan replied. "So?"

"My father's name was Alras."

Tristan sucked in his breath. "How old are you?"

Brenna frowned. "I will see my twenty fifth winter."

Tristan held his head in concentration. Siofra's brother in law was named Alras. She had been taken in by a widow named Adalia. Brenna was just a little younger than he was. Somehow, even though Siofra had never mentioned Alras having a child, Tristan appreciated finally that Siofra was telling the truth. She was his mother. Perhaps he had known it deep down inside all along, but standing here in this farmstead, where he was born, he realized, it made sense now. And if that was the case, then Brenna's father had died because of him. Just another life he had ruined…

"What are you thinking?" Brenna had come to his side. He shook the pain from his face. He couldn't tell her what he was thinking of. She would hate him. He was selfish, he didn't want that.

"Nothing."

Brenna scrutinized him closely. She probably didn't believe him. He looked away from her, focusing on the outside.

"Fine. Don't tell me." Brenna turned around, but then stopped. "There is one thing that is bothering me. When you were delirious, you said your mother was an elf. I thought you didn't know who your parents were?"

Tristan froze. He remembered saying that now. He cursed his luck. Perhaps he should just fess up to Brenna. He hadn't told anyone about Siofra. It would be good to let it out. "I know now who my parents are."

"Really?" Brenna asked curiously.

"Yes." Tristan replied. "I ran into a Dalish clan in the summer. A woman recognized me as her son."

"So your mother _is_ a Dalish?" Brenna asked incredulously. "I was right."

"Yes, you were." Tristan admitted.

"And your father?"

"An apostate."

"Interesting." Brenna said thoughtfully. She leaned in closer to Tristan. "Tell me more, please."

Tristan sighed and then he told her everything Siofra had told him. Except he never mentioned the widow's name and he conveniently left Alras's name out of the story too. He didn't have the heart to tell her. For the moment, at least.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

The farmstead lay just ahead of them, a beacon of light and hope reaching into the cold, grey sky. The tiny snow flurries fell slowly, seeming to suspend Ronan and Melisende in time. They had finally found the place. Ronan shivered in the cold. He had a new cloak, but it was thin and full of holes, the only thing he had been able to get his hands on.

"It's much colder in the south." Melisende remarked.

"Whatever you say." Ronan replied absentmindedly. They had been searching for this house for a few days now. They were finally there. The house was dark. It looked like nobody was home. Ronan's heart beat anxiously. He tried to make it stop. He was never nervous, never unsure of things. Why now? He bent down to pat Ash on the head. The wolf gazed at him, seeming to reassure him. He took a deep breath.

"Shall we get a move on?" Melisende asked.

"I must admit, I fear returning home only to find out I am too late…" he said. He immediately regretted letting that out. He ruffled Ash's neck and then stood up, avoiding Melisende's gaze.

"That won't happen. And I am sure Tristan is in there. He will help your mother. I know he will." Melisende reassured him with a slight squeeze to his shoulder. Ronan highly doubted that Tristan would willingly come to his mother's aid. Ronan had to admit, he had learned a lot about his brother just by traveling with Melisende. Tristan did have a lot on his plate. He was either loved or hated by the people, he had a child withheld from him, and he was tainted, somehow. But that didn't mean Ronan liked him any better. He still thought him a coward for running away from his duties. And if his reaction to Siofra's confession had been any sign at all of what to expect, then Ronan knew it wouldn't be easy to convince the fool to help her.

"By the gods, he better be in there." Ronan began walking toward the house. Melisende followed slowly.

As they neared the farmstead, a dog began to bark, calmly at first, and then incessantly. It came charging at them from the side of the house. Ronan drew his sword, ready to stop it, but Melisende held him back.

"No." the dog stopped abruptly in front of Melisende, wagging its stubby tail happily and jumping back and forth, barking and whining. It was a mabari hound; the same one Tristan had had with him before. Ronan had never before been so happy to see a mabari. He turned to check on Ash, but the wolf had disappeared. Shrugging, he turned back to Melisende, who was petting the hound with a smile on her face. "It's my old hound, Loki! I didn't know Tristan had him with him…"

Loki jumped up onto Melisende, licking her face in joy. Ronan shook his head in slight amusement. Nobody would ever see Ash doing that to him. And he preferred it that way, really.

"I hate to break up the reunion, but shouldn't we go inside?" Ronan teased. Melisende pushed Loki away gently and nodded.

Melisende gestured for Loki to sit and stay and then walked up to the door, knocking. There was no answer. Ronan sighed impatiently. Melisende was about to knock again when Ronan got in her way and kicked the door open. Melisende frowned at him and he shrugged, walking carefully into the house.

The place was a mess of things scattered everywhere. There didn't seem to be anybody around, though it was taking long enough for Ronan's eyesight to adjust to the dark room. As he looked around, he clutched at his sword, a prickle running down his spine. Not of fear, but of foreboding. And then a man and a woman came out of the shadows, arrows nocked and ready to fire at the intruders.

Ronan cursed as he observed the pair. The woman had short black hair and was staring at him menacingly. It could only be Brenna. The man, he never thought to be happy to see him, but he was. It was Tristan. It was his brother. His hair was a little different and he wasn't wearing any armor but it was him. Melisende must have noticed too for she jumped with joy and broke into a run towards Tristan. Brenna aimed her bow at Melisende, but hesitated to release as Tristan accepted the hug with surprise, lowering his own bow.

"Mel?" he asked. "What are you doing here?"

"I've been literally looking all over Ferelden for you!" Melisende explained breathlessly. Brenna put down her bow, sensing no danger. She watched the scene with curiosity. Ronan grew impatient. He cleared his throat loudly. Tristan turned his attention to him and after his initial look of surprise, he scowled.

"What are _you_ doing here?" Tristan angrily asked. Melisende and Brenna looked at the hatred brewing between the two men, confused.

"He helped me find you." Melisende butt in.

"Am I supposed to be grateful to him, then?" Tristan sarcastically asked Melisende. Ronan shook his head in annoyance. Tristan was such a jerk. Why couldn't Melisende see that? Instead, she just stared at him, confused. Well, this couldn't wait any longer.

"I am here to fetch you. Our mother is sick. She needs you." Ronan explained. He saw the stunned look overcoming Melisende's face and felt a little guilty at hiding it from her. But there was no time for regret now. He had to convince Tristan to come back with him.

Tristan grunted, crossed his arms over his chest, and glared angrily at Ronan. "She is not my mother. She is a nutty old bat."

"You know nothing of the woman!" Ronan yelled. He slammed his fist onto the table in front of him. "You refuse her last wish? The gods will escort her soon to the next world."

Tristan said nothing. Melisende and Brenna hung back awkwardly, too shocked to say anything.

"Fine. You don't deserve to call her mother. Stay here and rot." Ronan was angry. How was he supposed to convince Tristan to come with him? He lost what little patience he had then. He turned around and stormed angrily out of the house. He faintly heard Melisende call his name as she rushed after him.

…

Tristan hadn't meant what he said. He did believe Siofra now. He knew she was his mother. But he hated the smug look Ronan had given him. He hadn't forgotten how the lout had treated him. He only wanted to anger him. And that he did. Melisende had given him an unforgiving look before chasing after the brute. And now Brenna quietly watched him from the table.

He contemplated what Ronan had said. Siofra was sick. She needed him. He thought back to his trip to the Fade. The demon had said something about saving his mother. He had forgotten it in his haste to return to the world un-possessed. But really, what did she think he could do? He was not a spirit healer at all. He only knew a few spells.

"You should go to your mother." Brenna said, sensing his hesitation. "You have nothing to lose."

Tristan thought of his son. His son he would give anything to know. His mother, was she so different from himself? Sure, she had given Tristan up, but only because she wanted the best for him. He wouldn't want his son resenting him the way he resented his mother. In a way, he knew how Siofra felt. He would help her, in any way that he could.

…

Ronan paced back and forth outside. He desperately wanted to punch something. He caught sight of a pail sitting on top of a well. He stalked over to it and punched it. As his fist connected with it, it made a large clang and fell into the well. He cursed as pain shot through his hand. Punching something in the cold was not the smartest thing he could have done. But he was frustrated and now he felt a little better. He turned around to see Melisende. She was upset.

"Why couldn't you have just told me the truth?" she demanded of him.

"I'm not even supposed to know. My father sent me to fetch the Warden Commander. He never said, 'go fetch your brother'. I only know because I couldn't help eavesdropping on my mother and Tristan." Ronan defended himself.

"Still… you should have told me." Melisende said with disappointment. Ronan sighed. He probably should have told Melisende. But he had never thought they would become friends. He didn't think it was any of her business. But now he thought otherwise. Friends, they didn't keep secrets from one another, did they?

"Apologies." Ronan said with all the honesty he could muster. Melisende smiled faintly.

"Tristan…" she changed the direction and tone of her quiet fury. "He is not usually this way. He would never not help somebody out of bitterness…"

Melisende turned around as she caught the snarl Ronan gave as Tristan came out of the house, Brenna following behind. Melisende walked up to Tristan and got into his face. "You are a selfish jerk. Your mother is very ill and you won't even consider helping her? Why in the world have I stood by you all this time?" she quietly grumbled at him, shoving him roughly in the shoulder. "You hurt person after person, friend after friend. You manipulated Alistair. You chronically lied to Leliana, to everyone, about Morrigan. And me? You acted as if there was nothing wrong with not telling me about a Howe being a Grey Warden. You knew what happened to my family. And even if it turned out right in the end, it didn't change the fact that you never warned me. And you never told me about the assassination plot. Your secrets will be the death of somebody someday!"

Ronan reveled in the scene, but stopped short of rubbing it in or adding to it when he saw Tristan's face. He flinched and looked pained at every accusation sent his way.

"I am only a man. I am bound to make mistakes. People seem to think I am some sort of infallible hero-god, perfect in everything he does." Tristan replied calmly. "I am sorry. I never meant to hurt you or anyone else. I will apologize for the rest of my cursed life if I have to…"

Melisende roared in frustration. She un-slung the wrapped sword from her shoulder and thrust it violently into Tristan's chest. Without another word, Melisende let out her breath and turned away, still visibly angry, but looking exhausted as well. It must have taken a lot to stand up to her Commander and friend like that. Ronan admired her. Tristan deserved her ire. If anything, it would knock some much needed sense into his scatterbrained head.

Tristan, fingering the wrapped bundle in puzzlement, turned to Ronan then. "I will go to Siofra."

_Maybe_, Ronan thought, _he has some sense after all._


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

The journey through the Brecilian Forest was a quiet and awkward one. Ronan was anxious and fumed silently in the lead, glancing back now and then to make sure Tristan was still following. Tristan, for his part, followed quietly, staring at the ground, refusing to meet anyone's eyes. Melisende and Brenna both had decided to accompany the brothers, who didn't bar them from the journey nor neither did they encourage the girls to join them. Melisende kept well away from Tristan, still angry with him, and a little shamed at her outburst, though it had felt great at the time to let it loose. She also made it clear to Ronan that she was not pleased with him either, though she doubted if he even noticed, so anxious was he to get home. Brenna was the only one with a smile, besides Loki, who probably would have smiled if dogs could. Instead, Loki trotted alongside the group, wagging his tail and sniffing at the ground in curiousity. Brenna tried to lighten the mood several times, but it was no use and she eventually gave up.

The forest paths winded here and there, disappearing beneath ferns and leaves a few times. Melisende wondered how Ronan was even able to find his way home, it was all so confusing. But Ronan walked with an ease she had yet to see in him. He was sure of his place in the forest. He walked without hesitation, without having to pause to decide which path to take, or whether to stray off a path. For her part, Melisende would already have gotten lost. The forest was so bewildering. She guessed that was partially the point of the clan living in a large, overgrown, and wild forest such as this. It would take a lot of courage for somebody to invade this untouched wilderness and find the Dalish. But it was not impossible apparently, for Tristan had found his way to his mother's clan before. _His mother's clan_.

Melisende was still in disbelief at finding out that Ronan was Tristan's brother. Of all the possible reasons for Ronan to be chasing down Tristan for his mother, she never thought to think it was because of that. On hindsight, however, the signs were there. Besides sharing the same eyes, Ronan had many of the same mannerisms of Tristan, which surprised Melisende when she thought about it, because they had not grown up together, had not even know each other existed until this very year. But they were there, subtle as they were. She thought of the way Tristan used to run his hand through his hair when he was nervous and realized Ronan had also done that on a number of occasions. Watching them walk in front of her, she noticed how similar that graceful trot was too. It was funny how similar yet how different they were.

Ronan picked up the pace suddenly. Melisende figured they were almost at the Dalish camp. She was finding herself more than a little intrigued and excited to meet Siofra. She just hoped the woman was not as near death as Ronan made her out to be.

They made their way into a clearing, a cluster of _aravels_ visible in the near distance. The camp was quiet. Ronan stopped in his tracks and looked around anxiously. It was too quiet.

"Something is wrong." Ronan whispered. He made his way closer to the village. The only noise audible was the pounding of their feet on the hard, cold ground, and the swaying of the trees in the faint wind.

Stranger even than the quiet was the emptiness of the village. Nobody came out to greet them and nobody peeked from out of their _aravel_. Even the _hallas_ were gone. Ronan stopped by the great fire pit. It had burned itself out. Melisende could see Ronan growing tense, bunching up his fists and then drawing his sword. His frustration grew and then turned to worry as he went to each _aravel_, finding nothing and nobody.

Tristan hovered around the fire pit, examining the ground closely. Brenna came up to Melisende then. "There are signs of struggle everywhere." Brenna pointed out in a lowered voice. Melisende nodded her agreement as she took in the sight of one _aravel_ in particular. The door flap was ripped open and things lay scattered about. There was even a bit of blood on the ground.

Ronan came back to them, a look of anger on his face. He walked up to Tristan, his sword pointed menacingly toward his brother's neck. Tristan did not flinch nor move away.

"This is your doing, _shem'lin_." Ronan growled.

"Yes, everything is my fault." Tristan retorted with a slight hint of sarcasm. He grabbed at Ronan's sword and lowered it slowly. Ronan glared at Tristan threateningly. Melisende held her breath. She would not let them fight. She got in between the two.

"You don't even know what happened here." Melisende pointed out to them both.

"Where are my people? They would not just up and leave. They have been attacked. I can see that. I am not blind." Ronan blurted out quickly.

At that moment, Loki let out a low growl, startling everyone. They turned their attention to Loki's gaze. A lone Dalish woman came carefully out of the woods, holding a small toddler in her arms. Ronan gasped in surprise and went running to her. The woman handed the toddler to Ronan and burst into sobs.

"Thank the gods you are home, Ronan," the woman managed to say. She clutched at Ronan desperately. Ronan put a comforting hand around her.

"Eleri, what has happened here?" he asked her. As she struggled for control over her emotions, Ronan brought her closer to the fire pit and sat her down on a log. The toddler, a pretty little girl with blonde hair and blue eyes, he continued to hold. The girl smiled at Ronan and tugged at his hair as he focused on her mother.

"I was so frightened. I thought you were them…" Eleri tried to explain.

"You thought I was who?" Ronan prodded.

"The bad men… the…" Eleri sobbed, unable to go on. Her little girl began to squirm in Ronan's arms, distressed by her mother's increasing sobs.

"Who?" Ronan asked impatiently.

"Ronan, the woman is clearly shocked, give her time to answer." Melisende said. Ronan looked up at Melisende with a frown. Brenna, in the meantime, walked over to Ronan and motioned for him to hand over the girl. Ronan did so and then focused again on Eleri.

"Eleri, please tell me what happened. How can I help you if you just sit there and cry?" Ronan begged.

Eleri nodded and then swallowed back a sob, wiping away at her tears. "I was in the forest with my girl, gathering herbs. I was on my way back when Rhys told me to stay away. I saw the village. Rhys tried to hide my view. But I saw. There were men there. They were very big. I think… I think some of them were Qunari. Some of our hunters were fighting back, but there was a mage. A powerful mage. He did something and had everyone tied up… they were slavers, Ronan. They were slavers," and with that Eleri broke down again.

"Slavers!" Ronan exclaimed and sat up. He cursed and spat on the ground. He paced furiously, a look of intense hatred on his face.

"Did they take _everyone_?" he asked.

Eleri shook her head. "Some of us got away. Rhys managed to send some of us away into the forest before the slavers could get us. They are all hiding near the ruins."

"My mother, my father?" Ronan asked.

Eleri shook her head and looked sadly at the ground. "I'm sorry Ronan, they took them."

Ronan let out a roar. Melisende desperately wanted to do something to comfort him, but he was beyond help at the moment. He had a murderous glint in his eyes, muttering something in Dalish. To Melisende, it sounded like _nan_. He stalked away to the other side of the village. It was best to give him time alone, to calm down.

"Why aren't you hiding in the forest?" Tristan kindly asked of Eleri.

She turned to him a little shyly. "Rhys is my husband. He followed the slavers. I wanted to be here when he came back…he went alone." To Melisende it seemed that Eleri had recognized Tristan at that moment. "You… you are the Grey Warden, right? You have to help us. Please, go after Rhys. He is alone. What can he do alone?"

"I will help." Tristan readily agreed.

"_Ma serannas_, Grey Warden." Eleri thanked Tristan.

"Somebody should check on Ronan…" Melisende mentioned, a little worried for him. She knew only too well what it felt like for your home to be attacked. She would have gone after him herself, but Eleri arose.

"I will go to him. I know him well." Eleri went over to Brenna, who handed the toddler back to her mother. With an appreciative nod, Eleri left in Ronan's direction.

"This is horrible." Brenna said, walking over to Tristan. They all took a seat around the fire pit, pondering in silence the implications of what had happened. Slavers, in Ferelden? They had the nerve. They could only be Tevinter. The Imperium still allowed slavery. And they had Qunari mercenaries. Odd, considering the Tevinter Imperium and the Qunari were in constant warfare with one another. But then again, mercenaries had no allegiances but to coin. Alistair would be furious if he knew that this had happened in his kingdom.

After a little while, Melisende got tired of waiting for Ronan to come back. "I have to check on him…" she said. Tristan looked at her in surprise and concern.

"Mel, are you alright?" he asked her. He was staring at her with pity. She shrugged him off.

"Yes, of course I'm alright." She lied. She knew what he was thinking because she was thinking it too. This village being attacked, it brought back a lot of horrible memories for her. Memories she thought she had long ago buried. Her home and everyone she loved had been attacked, betrayed… she refused to go down that road again. She stood up. "Don't worry about me, Tristan. If anything, I should be asking you – this is your family…"

"No, I mean, yes, but… " Tristan struggled to explain. Melisende could see that he was horrified by what had happened here, but there was another emotion there, one she couldn't put her finger on. Guilt, perhaps? She remembered the expression on his face after she had awoken from the assassination attempt – it was very similar to what it was now. Finally, Tristan sighed and shrugged. "Go to him then."

Melisende hesitated at first, but Tristan waved her away. Glancing at Brenna by his side, who made a faint reassuring gesture with her head, Melisende nodded and then anxiously made her way over to the other side of the village.

…

"Do you feel as miserable as you look?" Brenna asked Tristan after Melisende had left.

"What?" Tristan cracked a pathetic half smile in an attempt to brush off any of her concerns. He did feel miserable. Who wouldn't after seeing what happened? "This is my _normal _face."

They sat in silence for a few moments, with Brenna not impressed at Tristan's measly attempt at humour. She crept closer to him.

"It's not your fault, you know," she placed a hand on his forearm.

"Of course it is. Didn't you hear Ronan? Everything that is good, I mess up. Including this village." Tristan replied. As soon as the words came out of his mouth, he regretted them. He really did not feel like getting into a conversation with Brenna. She had badgered him for so long about his feelings. It was getting harder and harder to deny her.

"That's not true." Brenna reassured him.

"Oh? How would you know? My mother, her whole clan may be sold into slavery far away from their home. They might as well be dead. I could have prevented it. Ronan could have, if I had just done my duty and gone straight back to the Keep." Tristan angrily retorted.

"But you didn't know this would happen."  
"Right. Whatever you say Brenna."

"I'm only trying to help." Brenna pouted.

"Beware, Brenna," Tristan sent a warning look at Brenna, "You should leave my side while you still can. Maker knows I already messed up your life."

"How could you say that?" Brenna asked in disbelief.

"Because that's what I do. Look what happened with Leliana. I lied to her. I betrayed her even though I loved her. I have a child, you know. I'll probably manage to mess up his life too, even from afar."

Brenna regarded Tristan in puzzlement. He wanted her to stop liking him. He wanted her to know that he was not perfect, not even close. Too many people thought that of him. But they didn't know him. He knew that he would only hurt her if she continued to follow him around. He couldn't be whatever she wanted him to be.

"Tristan, shut up." Brenna said sternly. "You said it before, nobody is perfect."

"You want more evidence?" Tristan continued.

"No, stop." Brenna hissed.

"The darkspawn taint, it eats away at me. Every day I come closer to becoming a monster, one step closer to my calling. Did you know what that was? I will have to leave for the Deep Roads eventually, to die, or else I will change, and not for the better. I didn't want to put Leliana through that. I don't want to put anyone through that. I should have just died during the Blight, like I was supposed to. Instead, like a coward, I went through with a ritual concocted by Morrigan. That's why I am not a hero… I couldn't even make the greatest sacrifice a Grey Warden could make – my life for the archdemon's. I can't even be a proper Grey Warden. Now do you understand?" Honestly, he couldn't believe he had just said that. He had never meant to let everything out.

"Tristan…" Brenna began.

"Really, Brenna," Tristan interrupted. "You should leave before I further ruin your life."

"You haven't done anything to me!" Brenna said in frustration.

"Isn't that the point, though? I see how you look at me. I know how you feel about me. In truth, it puzzles me. You are better off without me. I will only hurt you. I have been leading you on cruelly already, accepting your hospitality. I even tempted you when I knew it would go nowhere…" Brenna shook her head and held up her hand to command Tristan to silence. But he continued on anyway. "I have lied to you, too. Your father… he is from this clan. He died because of me."

Brenna opened her mouth in surprise, momentarily speechless.

"He was my mother's brother-in-law. Your mother was the widow that took my mother in. Your father, he fought off bandits to the death. He was on his way to Lothering, with me."

Brenna looked thoughtful and took her time to reply. Finally, after a few moments, she chose her words carefully. "Tristan, I don't know what you are trying to do here. I don't know why you are trying to be so cruel to me. But you will shut up because I have so many things to say to you. First, I never knew my father. I only ever heard great things about him. If my father hadn't died saving you, for why else would he take on a group of bandits unless they wanted something from him, which could have been you, then who would have saved the world? And that no matter how it was done, the Blight was ended, thanks to you. You rallied the country together when it was torn apart by civil war, you fought the darkspawn, you struck the killing blow. I understand why you went through with Morrigan's ritual, whatever it was. For love. Of Leliana, of your fellow wardens. That was not selfish." She paused to give him a reassuring look and then continued.

"Life is short, I live in the moment. I don't worry about the far off future. We all have to die one day, one way or another. If you deprive yourself of the sweetness of life's little gifts, like love, in order to avoid future pain, then what kind of life is that? When you go to your calling, for I always knew about that… wouldn't you rather have lived a happy life, knowing you did everything you could to the best of your abilities, loving everyone, your friends, your family, your … lovers, to the fullest? Rather than having lived a miserable, lonely existence, running from your duties, for non-existent shame, from your friends, your family, to spare them a parting they would face anyway, Grey Warden or not? I don't know what Leliana would say, but I know that I would rather have a lifetime with you, darkspawn taint, transformation, calling, and all, instead of one without you at all…"

Tristan looked at her in surprise and shame. Here he was trying to push her away and she wouldn't have any of it. She even, sort of, had declared her love for him. Why? But she had a point, in everything that she said. She didn't know all the little details, but somehow she had grasped it all. "Brenna," he said, grabbing her hand, "you make sense…"

"Of course I do…" Brenna replied.

"Thank you. You are a good friend and I am a bastard." He said, a little embarrassed now. He had revealed far too much to her. _Er, did I just say she was a good friend? I bet she wasn't expecting that after… all that. _Tristan thought in shame. He didn't know how he felt about Brenna. In any case, she didn't look offended at his comments.

"Just push these dark thoughts out of your mind. You have a job to do now and you can't continue moping around. Things are not as bleak as you make them out to be. Your mother and her clan can be saved." Brenna stated confidently. She was right. He had to stop thinking like this. It had become an obsession lately, to feel sorry for himself, he admitted that much. There was no reason to feel that way. His life, though it was nothing he had ever expected it to be, was better than he could have imagined. He had to stop worrying about the past and even the future. He had to live in the moment, for the moment. It would be hard, but he was sure he could manage it. He had made many mistakes. They could, with a little effort, all be put to right. At the moment, however, he had to make amends with his mother, but first, he had to track her down and save her from a fate worse than death.

"I hope you are right," he replied with a sigh.

…

Melisende tread lightly to the other side of the village and then stopped completely. Perhaps she should just let Eleri calm Ronan down. Knowing Ronan's hatred of humans, and considering the fact that Tevinter slavers were human, he might not want to be comforted by her. She fingered her hair in contemplation. She considered turning back, but then saw that Brenna and Tristan were in deep conversation. It didn't look very jovial. Perhaps they needed time alone? Melisende wasn't sure about the type of relationship Tristan had with the woman, but Brenna seemed an alright type. She didn't want to interrupt them.

Caught in between, Melisende decided to just dawdle where she was. She leaned against a tree and took note of her surroundings. She started to count the number of leaves left on a branch above her head to pass the time. And then she heard it – a soft and soothing melody. She perked up in surprise and slowly followed the tune. Was that Ronan?

Hiding behind an _aravel_, Melisende came upon Ronan, Eleri, and Eleri's young daughter. The sweet melody – an elven lullaby most likely – _was _coming from Ronan. He sat cross-legged on the ground, holding the little girl in his arms, his back to Melisende. For her part, the little girl was mesmerized by Ronan and was slowly drifting into sleep. Eleri smiled gratefully upon Ronan. Her face was dry now, but tear stained nonetheless.

Melisende, too, was intrigued. She remembered Ronan speaking of children with disdain and here he was gently singing a lullaby to one. It must have been his bravado speaking that day in Gwaren. And his voice, it was pure and would put any court bard to shame. He even rivaled Leliana. The way that Ronan had stalked off, Melisende didn't think that he could have calmed down so quickly.

As the lullaby came to an end, Melisende backed away slowly. She didn't think he would have wanted her to hear or see that. It seemed quite personal and Melisende felt like an intruder. She quickly made her way back to the fire pit. She would check on Ronan later, when he returned.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

"Brenna, I want you to stay here." Tristan said, pulling Brenna aside from the others.

"Why? I want to go with you." Brenna complained.

"No, it's too dangerous." Tristan sternly replied.

Brenna sighed. "You know I can take care of myself."

Loki came up to them then, rolling on the ground, whining to be rubbed.

"Take Loki and go with Eleri into the forest to find the rest of the elves. Gather them together and do what you can for them." Tristan said. His voice had the authority and command one would expect from a Commander.

"I see there is no use in arguing with you. I will do as you say." Brenna relented. Satisfied, Tristan turned away, but Brenna caught his arm. "Be careful."

Smiling, Tristan gently brushed her arm away. "You… you stay safe." With that, Tristan rejoined Melisende and Ronan by the edge of the forest. He glanced at Ronan who was staring blankly off into the forest.

"Ronan," Tristan said. Ronan did not shift his attention from the forest. Frustrated, Tristan was about to open his mouth again, but then noticed a slight but definite movement in the forest. Ronan stood up then and turned to Tristan.

"Ash will show us the way." Ronan said with a contemptuous glare before quickly disappearing into the shadows of the forest.

Tristan frowned. "Ash?"

"His wolf." Melisende explained as she brushed by him, following Ronan.

"Oh, _that_ wolf." Tristan muttered to himself as he pushed away a branch and stepped into the forest.

…

Ronan did not look back to see if the Grey Wardens were following him. He concentrated on following Ash through the winding paths of the overgrown forest. He would find his clan and he would see the blood of the Tevinter slavers on his sword. _Nan_, vengeance, would be his. It was the only thought that kept him sane at the moment. If he thought about his parents, if he imagined the worst, then his fury might change direction. Tristan would be better off keeping his distance if that happened.

As they made their way deeper into the forest, a thick fog appeared, making it harder for them to tell where they were going. The thickness of the undergrowth made it hard to believe that anybody had passed through these parts ever, especially a whole group of people. But Ash was following Rhys's trail. Rhys was alone. He had probably stayed well away from the slavers while keeping an eye on them.

Finally, Ronan stopped. He had lost track of Ash. He glanced behind him and saw nothing but the thick fog. Where was Melisende? Tristan? He turned around in a circle searching his surroundings. The fog made it near impossible to see anything. A few trees stood ominously in his view, standing guard at the edge of his vision. The forest was silent, the wind had ceased. The only sound Ronan heard was the sound of his slow and steady breathing. He broke the silence with a whistle for Ash.

Nothing happened.

An eerie feeling crept upon Ronan. He expected at any moment to see Falon'Din emerge from the fog, guiding the dead to the Beyond. The dead being his clan… or was Falon'Din coming for him? Or perhaps this was a nightmare. Perhaps Fen'Harel was playing a cruel trick on him. He would wake up and everything would be back to normal…

A raven soared through the mist. His great black wings stretched out elegantly as he drifted toward Ronan. The bird was confused, lost in the fog. He cawed once and then vanished back into the invisible sky.

Ronan backed away slowly, his nerves unsettled by the raven. The god Dirthamen had wandered aimlessly in search of his brother Falon'Din. The ravens, Fear and Deceit had taunted him, telling him he would fade away, that his brother had abandoned him. Ronan shook away the feeling. It was just a raven. It was just a story. He was not lost…

But Ronan no longer knew which way was forward and which way was backward, the fog had become so thick. As he continued to walk backwards, away from the flight of the raven, he bumped into something. "_Aneth ara_!" he exclaimed in surprise, turning around and drawing his sword in one swift movement.

"Ronan!" that something called out in equal surprise. It was Tristan. Ronan lowered his sword, but only a little. He had to admit, he was relieved to have found his brother, but at the same time was worried for Melisende for she was not with Tristan.

"Where is Melisende?" he asked.

Tristan shrugged, but with worry visible on his face, replied, "I don't know. It's impossible to see."

"Can't you do something about this fog?" Ronan asked, remembering the fact that his brother was a mage.

Tristan shook his head. "The spells I know would only make it worse, I think."

They both stood on guard as the fog refused to budge.

"I don't like this. There are darkspawn nearby, I can feel it. We need to find Melisende." Tristan said quietly.

Ronan looked at Tristan in surprise. "Darkspawn? I thought you killed them all…"

Ronan was stunned to silence as a loud roar cut through the air. He looked around him in confusion. It had seemed to come from every direction. He was about to run off on one path when Tristan grabbed at his cloak, pulling him back in the opposite way.

"No, it is over there." Tristan warned quietly.

"What is?" Ronan asked in frustration. Another roar startled him. This time Tristan took off, pulling Ronan with him.

They ran through the fog. They might as well have been blind, for they could not see more than three steps ahead of them. They nearly ran right into several trees. And then just when Ronan thought they were getting closer to the roars, they stumbled down a small hill, branches and rocks cutting and tearing through his cloak. Better that than his skin. When they came to a stop, Ronan by ramming into Tristan's back, they realized that the fog only hung over this low clearing, creating a sort of dome of clarity. They were finally able to see. And what they saw made them scramble up and stand ready to fight.

Melisende came running toward them, a sword in each hand. Behind her came an ogre – the source of the loud roars. Ronan was shocked at the size of the monster. He had never really seen one before. However were they going to kill it? He was worried for Melisende – the ogre was catching up to her. Then Ronan heard the hissing of several arrows flying through the air. They landed on the ogre.

The ogre stopped, pulling the arrows out of his neck. Melisende reached Tristan and Ronan, out of breath, but no worse for wear. Relieved, Ronan turned his attention back to the ogre. Where did the arrows come from? He didn't have any time to contemplate further as the ogre furiously picked up a boulder and launched it towards them.

"Get down!" Tristan yelled, pushing Ronan to the ground. The boulder flew over their heads and landed behind them, bursting into many pieces, which rained down hard onto their heads.

The ogre wasted no time. He came charging toward them, intent on running them down. They got up quickly. Ronan watched as Tristan sent a lightning bolt hurtling towards the ogre. It hit the ogre, who grunted loudly and stopped running. But it did not knock down the ogre.

Despite his fury with the man, Ronan grinned at Tristan. "Now that, _that_ was awesome."

"It's not over yet." Tristan warned, but grinned back nonetheless.

Melisende took it upon herself to charge toward the ogre. Ronan watched in amazement as she jumped into the air and twisted around, each of her swords creating a slash on the ogre's chest. The ogre was angry now. As Melisende landed on the ground, she had to roll away quickly as the ogre pounded on the ground, causing the earth to shake. Catching his balance, Ronan decided it was time for him to join in on the fun.

He ran toward the ogre, his sword pointing directly at the ugly creature. Letting out a war cry, Ronan swung at the ogre's arm, which had come down to sweep away Ronan, but instead was now squirting out gore on the ground as Ronan's sword connected. Ronan stabbed at the ogre's arm again. The ogre lifted his arms in the air in fury and let out a deafening cry. He found himself being lifted off the ground as the ogre did this – his sword was stuck in the ogre's arm. The ogre waved his arm in an attempt to get Ronan off and was about to grab him with his free arm, when Ronan glimpsed a wave of cold energy flying toward the ogre.

"Ronan, let go!" Melisende called out from the ground.

As the wave hit the ogre, his body started to slowly freeze, from his free arm, to his head, to his torso, down his legs, and now coming towards the arm Ronan was stuck to. There was no way he was leaving his sword to freeze. Quickly, he swung his legs up onto the arm, pushed his legs onto the arm and at the same time pulled with all his might. The sword came loose, just as the arm was freezing over and Ronan fell to the ground with a thud.

As Ronan looked up, the ogre shattered into a million little pieces as a stone fist struck his frozen body. Ronan ducked under his cloak as the pieces hit him. When that stopped, he looked up to find Melisende extending a hand toward him. He took it and she pulled him up.

"Thank the Maker you guys came when you did." Melisende said as Ronan brushed off his cloak. They turned toward Tristan who looked a little drained.

"Everyone alright?" Tristan asked.

"Yes." Melisende replied gratefully. "Though I thought I was going to be run down by that thing. What stopped him?"

Ronan remembered the arrows flying through the air. He glanced toward the trees where the ogre had come from. Squinting, he walked over to them slowly. He caught sight of a green cloak hanging off a lower branch. "Rhys!" he called out.

The few leaves left on the top branches rustled and fell to the ground. The fog was still thick that high up but eventually a leg and then the rest of him came into view. A dark haired elf came climbing down, a bow and quiver attached to his back. He grabbed at his cloak before jumping down onto the ground in front of Ronan. He smiled in relief.

"Ronan! Thank the gods you have returned!" the elf said, taking Ronan's arm in greeting.

"So this is Rhys?" Tristan asked, though it was obviously Eleri's husband.

"The Grey Warden?" Rhys looked surprised to see Tristan. "No wonder that ogre had no chance."

Ronan frowned. Did Rhys not just see what Ronan had done, too? In any case, this was not the time for competition. "Did you track the slavers?"

Rhys nodded, a look of sorrow on his face. "I would have done more, Ronan, I swear. But I was alone. They have our hunters tied up, beaten. They could do nothing either. The mage leading them, he is very powerful."

"It's alright Rhys. Where did they go?" Ronan prodded impatiently.

"They went into a cave. I didn't follow…" Rhys admitted with shame.

"So there is a cave nearby?" Tristan asked curiously.

Rhys nodded.

"That must be where the ogre came from." Melisende said.

"Take us to the cave, Rhys." Ronan demanded.

"The Grey Warden is helping us?" Rhys asked before making a move.

Ronan sighed. "Yes."

"Great. Now we have a powerful mage on our side." Rhys enthusiastically replied, glancing at Tristan with hope.

Ronan rolled his eyes. He tapped Rhys on the back of the head. "Just take us to the cave." _Halla turd_, Ronan thought as his cousin led them back into the fog.

…

This time they stayed close, not wanting to get separated again in the heavy mist. Rhys led them to the cave, which opened up in front of them like a giant's mouth. Vines hung from the top, resembling hands clutching at the mouth, forcing it open. The cave was dark and ominous.

"This is it?" Ronan asked Rhys.

"Yes." Rhys replied.

Peering into the darkness, Melisende shuddered. "I don't blame you for not going in there."  
"Oh, but I did. But I turned back when I saw how deep it went. Then I heard that ogre shuffling around." Rhys admitted.

"Why would the slavers risk taking everyone through a cave full of darkspawn?" Ronan wondered aloud.

"I thought it odd myself." Rhys answered.

Tristan clutched at his head in thought. Something was nagging at him. He closed his eyes and listened to his thoughts. Every so often, if he tried hard enough, he could get a glimpse of what the darkspawn were doing. He could see through their eyes. He saw them then. They were huddled in a group, peering at a group of people – the slavers and the elves, Tristan realized. The darkspawn watched angrily as the group split up in two. They wanted to attack, but held back. One group went ahead while the other stayed put, for the moment. The Qunari mercenaries wore glowing necklaces around their neck. The darkspawn were afraid of these.

"Tristan?" Melisende's voice broke through his thoughts. He blinked back to reality. "Are you alright?"

"The darkspawn won't attack them, at least. Us, they might. The clan is divided in two groups. One is close by. If we go in now we can reach them." Tristan explained.

Ronan and Rhys regarded Tristan with curiousity. How did he know that? But Melisende seemed to understand and readily agreed with him.

"Then let's go." Ronan grunted.

…

Melisende took deep breaths as they made their way down the steep caverns. She never liked the underground. She tried not to think of all the earth above them, about how it could all come crashing down on them and suffocate them. But it was hard. This was not the Deep Roads, she reminded herself. That, however, did nothing to comfort her. The Deep Roads at least were made by dwarves. These caverns, they were carved out of the earth naturally. There was no stone purposely holding them up. She shuddered and shuffled forward. Then she stopped.

"You alright?" Ronan asked as he brushed by her. He paused his own stride to look over her. Tristan and Rhys were ahead. Tristan had made a torch and it was the only light in the dark cavern.

"I'm fine." Melisende lied.

"Really? 'Cause I feel like we're about to be squashed by the earth." Ronan whispered with a grin. He took her hand and gave her palm a squeeze. "Come on, let's go, before we're stuck in the dark."

Ronan moved forward. Knowing she was not alone in her feelings, she followed, and Ronan released her hand. Strange, she was hoping he wouldn't let go. _Ugh, you are not a child to be led through the dark by hand_, she chastised herself as they caught up to Tristan and Rhys.

"I am a Grey Warden." Melisende whispered to herself. She might as well get used to the fact that she would venture underground a lot. She already had, but it never got any easier.

Tristan halted them suddenly. Melisende knew that look. They were about to be attacked. In her worry, she had failed to sense the darkspawn presence. Tristan drew his sword. He had no armour on and Melisende worried for him. He should stay in the back and cast spells. But she had no time to point out her worry, for a dozen or so darkspawn came out of the darkness, brandishing their monstrous swords and axes and uttering their awful cries.

Tristan blocked and parried many erratic swings. The darkspawn were not skilled at all. They were desperate. They were stragglers, humiliated by their defeats. They knew they were in the presence of Grey Wardens and seemed to gravitate mostly toward Tristan and Melisende, intent on revenge. That was just as well, Melisende would have it no other way.

She was swarmed by a few hurlocks and genlocks. She twirled around in a swift flurry, hacking off a few hurlock heads. And then she blocked the swings of the smaller genlocks, kicked at them to trip them and then stabbed them to death.

She glanced around her, taking in the small skirmish. Tristan was effortlessly fighting off a small group of the monsters. Ronan held his own against a few, bashing them with his shield and then hacking at them with his sword, decapitating one large hurlock with a horned helmet. Rhys hovered at the edge of the battle, picking off targets with his longbow. It was quickly over.

"Darkspawn… there's no end to these creatures." Melisende said with disgust as she took in the carnage.

"In peace, vigilance." Tristan recited part of the Grey Warden motto to Melisende as he picked up the torch and moved on. She followed closely, not wanting to be left behind in the dark.

…

A little while later, Tristan turned back with a look of warning to the others. "Quiet now, we are close. See the glow?" he motioned ahead in the distance. His followers squinted and nodded as they noticed. Ronan made a move to go on ahead of the others, but Tristan held him back.

"Nothing brash, Ronan. If we play this carefully, we can ambush them. If we don't, we may put many lives in danger." Tristan warned him.

Ronan scowled and brushed Tristan off. "Do you think I am stupid?"

"No, but you are eager and inexperienced. You have to trust me here." Tristan explained with slight annoyance. He really hoped that Ronan would see it his way. He knew Ronan was angry with him, but for everyone's sake, he hoped the churl would put these things aside for now.

Ronan crossed his arms in consternation. He seemed to hesitate.

"Cousin, I think we should trust the Grey Warden. No offense to you, but he does have a point…" Rhys offered.

Ronan sent an icy glare towards Rhys. "Fine. Lead the way."

"Remember, stay quiet and we can surprise them." Tristan sent one last warning before moving on. But first, he snuffed out his torch. He kept to the shadows, motioning for the others to do the same. When they came nearer to the glow of the slavers torchlight, he halted the group. They were at a corner, hidden. He peered around the corner.

The slavers – mostly Qunari mercenaries with a few Tevinter soldiers here and there – guarded a group of elves, mostly very young and very old elves. _No mages at least_ he noted with satisfaction. Tristan was, however, disappointed to see that Siofra was not among the captives. She must be with the other group, the one that went ahead. Why was this group stopped? Were they going to weed out the "useless" elves? That was what it looked like to Tristan. He realized that that was the reason the clan had been separated. They had to act quickly. Ronan craned over Tristan's shoulder to see. Tristan shook his head in annoyance and pushed him back.

"The bastards…" Ronan muttered. Tristan sucked in his breath. Had Ronan realized what he had? Had the slavers heard him? It didn't matter for Ronan ran ahead, evading Tristan's grip.

_Fool!_ Tristan thought as he had no choice but to follow, charging into a battle that could have been planned and carried out in a better way than this.

"Elgar'nan, guide my blade!" Ronan yelled, kissed his sword, and then ran straight for the nearest Qunari mercenary. The mercenary looked up in surprise, but then smiled with glee as he saw it was only a puny elf running at him. Tristan cursed his brother's foolishness. Had he never seen a Qunari fight?

"_Ar tu na'lin emma mi!_" Ronan yelled as he swung his sword toward the Qunari. The Qunari blocked it easily and countered swiftly for a giant. Ronan, too, was swift and ducked as the greatsword came flying towards his head.

"Throwing all caution to the wind?" Melisende mused next to Tristan. "That reminds me of someone a few years back…" she sent Tristan a knowing look and then joined the battle, picking out one of the Tevinter soldiers to do battle with. Tristan shook his head. _Maker help me._

Catching sight of a Tevinter soldier on the far side, raising his sword toward a captive elf, threatening to bring it down, Tristan quickly gathered his wits about him and sent a fireball flying through the air to hit the soldier. He crumpled down in a burning heap.

"Wow, nice shot!" Rhys said by his side. "Oh, having a mage on our side is going to be so much fun!"

Tristan couldn't help but smile. People usually feared his magic. It was nice to be appreciated for once. He watched as Rhys made his way to the captives, cutting their bonds with a knife. He turned to glance at Ronan, who was still dueling with the Qunari. Melisende had moved on to another foe. Neither needed his help at the moment. Besides, a Qunari walked calmly toward him, a sneer on his face. Tristan readied his sword and blocked the first swing the giant took at him. The giant was strong. It took all of Tristan's strength to push him back. The Qunari came at him again, aiming for Tristan's torso. Tristan jumped back, but the Qunari's greatsword was long and it managed to cut a slash across his torso. The Qunari laughed.

Tristan looked at the cut, superficial at least, and then looked back at the Qunari. _Alright, forget the sword on sword fight. I am not wearing any armor. This giant has the upper hand right now. He won't be laughing for long._ Tristan summoned up another fireball and sent it towards the Qunari, who fell back in pain, burning, and no longer laughing. Tristan looked down upon him and stabbed him through the chest to put him out of his misery.

He looked around him. Ronan had managed to take down the Qunari he had been fighting and was now sparring with a Tevinter soldier. The rage boiled visibly out of Ronan and he danced around his opponent in a blur, cutting him down. He moved on to another soldier and skillfully took that one down. Impressed, Tristan could do nothing but stare, until he was attacked himself. He fought the man off easily.

Finally, their foes were few in number. Melisende stood exhausted over a pile of bodies, covered in blood. Rhys, now that he had freed the captives, picked off one more slaver and then lowered his bow. They all stared at Ronan who never once stopped to take a breath. He cut down the last of the Tevinter soldiers in a rage. Surely, Elgar'nan had answered Ronan's prayer and was guiding his blade, so furious and elegant he looked, Tristan thought.

The last Tevinter soldier threw his weapons to the ground and begged for mercy before Ronan's feet. Ronan did not pause, did not hesitate as he decapitated the man. At long last, it was over. Ronan at last seemed to take a breath. He looked at the captives, covered in blood, and then he turned his gaze toward Tristan and grinned triumphantly.

Tristan frowned. _Luck was on your side today. That's all it was._

…

Melisende wiped the blood and gore off of her face and body. She wished she had a bucket of water, to dump it all over her head. But this would have to do for now.

She saw the disappointment on Ronan's face as he realized that his mother and father were not among these captives. He wandered among the captives, talking to each of them. They were a bunch of elders and toddlers. Melisende assumed that the Tevinters had decided they were useless, being too old or young to do hard labour and probably would have killed them if they had not come in time. She wondered what Tristan had up his sleeves now. Would the elves follow them, or would Tristan send them back?

Her question was answered when she saw Tristan pull off a few of the glowing necklaces from the dead Qunari. He wandered over to Rhys and handed it over.

She became distracted when Ronan sat down by her. "My mother is still alive." He said.

"That is good news." Melisende replied.

"Yes, but they tell me it is only because my father has been able to hide her illness from the slavers." Ronan said halfheartedly.

"We will find them soon." Melisende reassured him. Tristan joined them at that moment.

"I'm sending Rhys back with these elves. They should be safe. We've killed most of the darkspawn, and those necklaces, they will protect them from the others." Tristan explained.

"We should leave soon." Ronan said, arising and then trotting off to be alone. Melisende wondered if she should follow him, but decided against it. She didn't, after all, really know what to say to him. She could reassure him a thousand times over that everything would be alright, but she knew from personal experience that statements like that would only fall on deaf ears until everything actually was "alright".


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

A dim light illuminated the end of the cavern. They had been walking through the cave for what seemed like hours. There had been no forks in the path, requiring no decisions to be made about which way to turn. It was a straight path, a convenient passage under the forest. Tristan had to wonder if it had been dug out by somebody and not by nature. Finally, they had come to its end.

Ronan pushed forward past Tristan, nearly knocking him down in his fervor to get to the end of the cave. "Hold your horses, whelp."

Ronan disappeared into the outside.

"Patience is not his virtue." Melisende remarked as she paused by Tristan, and then followed Ronan.

"What are his virtues?" Tristan wondered aloud to himself as he caught up to the two. It was dawn outside, the rising sun casting a bright light straight into his face as he walked out. He had to close his eyes and then squint in pain before his eyes adjusted to the new light.

When he could see again, Tristan noticed that they had emerged onto the coast. The forest lay behind them, overgrown and wild. The coast, in contrast, lay before them, serene and calm in the rising sun. But appearances were deceiving. A large ship lay motionless in the distance, anchored far off shore. On the shore were row boats being loaded up with elves by slavers.

Ronan turned to Tristan. "We have to go, now!"

Without waiting for Tristan to agree or disagree, Ronan broke into a sprint, heading for the slavers, making no effort to conceal himself. Tristan cursed, and then exchanging shrugs with Melisende, they set off after Ronan.

_The fool rushes in again_, Tristan thought as he watched as Ronan held out his sword menacingly toward the slavers and cried out in Dalish. _Strange, the only time he ever set up an ambush was when he caught me in the ruins… this could be so much easier if he had just took the time to do that here._

The elves looked up from their chains. Some of them arose, glad to see Ronan. The slavers also noticed, but made no move other than to draw their swords and axes. They clearly were not worried about such an odd trio. However, the captive elves, hunters, Tristan noticed, took it upon themselves to fight back at that moment. A few of them rose up and using their chains, knocked down the surprised slavers. A few others kicked sand into the faces of the slavers.

Ronan reached them and in a mad fury attacked the slavers, knocking over one with his shield and stabbing at the other that came charging at him. Tristan cut the chains off of the captive elves as quickly as he could. They could use all the help. The elves gathered what weapons they could find and joined the battle.

Tristan thought it would be easy. He saw the slavers fall, one by one, to the blades of Ronan, Melisende, and the Dalish hunters. But in the middle of it all stood a calm, petite figure. She seemed nonplussed at the carnage around her. She held a staff above her head. She was a Tevinter mage. Tristan fought off a mercenary, wanting to get to the mage quickly before she did any damage. He was too late; she slammed her staff on the ground, rumbling the earth so that all combatants, slavers included, were knocked back to the ground. The mage grew bigger, transforming into one mean and ugly looking giant spider.

The spider lifted its legs, bringing them quickly down onto the ground, stabbing anything that didn't get out of its way. The Dalish scrambled away quickly, losing heart. The few slavers that were left tried to run away as well, but were cut down by Ronan.

The spider chased down the Dalish, knocking them over, attempting to stab them or grab them with its hairy legs.

Melisende came to Tristan's side. "Maker, I hate spiders. What are you going to do about it?" she asked him, shuddering in disgust.

"I'll burn it." Tristan replied. He released a tempest of flame in the spider's direction. The spider stopped in agony, and then changed the direction of its wrath. It stared at Tristan and began crawling over to him. The sight of a burning, giant spider, crawling toward him in fury, nearly made Tristan turn tail and run. But this wasn't really a spider; it was a shape-shifting mage. All he needed to do was stab it in a vital place and it would be finished.

"I hope you know what you're doing…" Melisende said beside him. He knew how much she hated spiders. But she hadn't run. Good, now he had two extra blades to stop the spider.

He grinned at her. "Aim for its legs, I'll go for the heart."

"Easier said than done." Melisende replied as the spider leaped toward them in a ball of flames. Melisende rolled away, directing her swords at the nearest legs. The spider managed to change direction in midair and landed harmlessly away from the swords pointed at it.

Tristan ran toward the spider. He thought of freezing it, but it was burning, and the flames didn't seem to be affecting it at all. He doubted a cold spell would do anything to it. So he aimed for its heart with his sword. The spider attempted to crawl away, but lurched forward at an odd angle. Tristan saw that two of its back legs had been severed.

"Mel?" he called out.

"Wasn't me," she replied as he caught sight of her to the left. She charged at the spider and hacked at its front legs. The spider attempted to get up, but couldn't. Instead, it swiped at Melisende, sending her flying into the sand.

"Are you going to let the creature get away with that?" Ronan asked, breathless, and stabbing at the spider's underbelly.

Shaking his head, Tristan ran to join Ronan. They ferociously stabbed at the spider until the spider reared backwards. They ran forwards then, not wanting to get squished by the dying creature. They threw themselves onto the sand just in time. The spider twitched and then fell quiet at their feet, its head and back still flaming.

Tristan sat up and caught his breath. Besides him Ronan was doing the same. He stood up and wiped the sand off of his clothes and then extended a hand to Ronan. Ronan brushed it aside and then heaved himself up. He looked worriedly to where Melisende had landed. Tristan saw the relief on Ronan's face when Melisende rose from the sand with no problem.

"It would take more than a giant spider to take her down." Tristan remarked as he felt the same relief wash over him.

Ronan made no reply. Instead, he turned his attention to the Dalish captives. He swaggered over to them and focusing on one powerful looking elf in particular, began to question the elf. "Merrion! What have they done with my mother and father?"

Tristan slowly made his way over to the small gathering, pausing for Melisende to catch up. Merrion, an angry scowl on his face, pointed to the ship. "They have taken them to the ship already. They have my wife, too. All of our women and children are onboard already."

Ronan looked at the ship with disgust. He returned his attention to the Dalish hunters in front of him. "Come fight with me, brothers." With those words he rushed off toward the rowboats, not looking back to see who followed. He didn't need to. Tristan watched in amazement as the Dalish hunters followed Ronan without hesitation. No doubt, they were eager to save their people, but still, he was surprised that they would follow Ronan, inexperienced as he was.

In any case, Tristan and Melisende rushed into the waters as well, hopping into a crowded rowboat. He hoped it wouldn't tip over, because he wasn't a good swimmer at all.

…

Climbing up the side of the ship was the easy task. The harder part was keeping his concentration. All Ronan could think of was how much he was going to savor tearing the Tevinter slavers into pieces. He would show them no mercy. They would get what they deserved, and more if he had it his way.

As he landed on deck he was confronted by the slavers. They had been waiting for him. Good, they had seen the carnage they had wreaked on the shore. The hunters followed behind him and for a moment all the two groups could do was stare at each other, hatred and anger boiling up and threatening to tip.

Ronan noticed, though, that they had several elves tied up and gagged to the side. He nearly exploded into a violent rage as he spotted his father, bound, gagged, blindfolded, and kneeling helplessly in front of a mercenary. Silas, their Keeper, his father, was being treated like an animal, a leash across his neck. The mercenary caught Ronan's gaze and pulled on Silas's leash with a sadistic smirk. Ronan marked the man in his mind and then moved forward to the center of the deck.

The leader of the slavers, a Tevinter mage, came to the center as well, carrying a staff and dressed in luxuriant robes. _Purchased through slavery…_ Ronan thought in disgust. He unsheathed his sword and pointed it straight at the mage. The slavers shuffled, ready to come to their leader's defense, but the mage lifted a hand in reassurance.

"I am Magnus," the mage began.

"I don't care who you are. You will soon be dead." Ronan interrupted him.

Magnus shook his head. "It is a shame, how you think you can come onto my ship and dictate to me what will happen. With a snap of my fingers, I can have all these captives killed. It would be no great loss to me. There is an endless supply of useless elves. Humans, even. Nobody can stop me. Certainly not a whelp like you."

Ronan growled. He would show Magnus what a _whelp _could do. With a malicious scowl, he continued to point his sword at the mage. "_Ma emma harel. Ar tu na'din_."

"Enough gibberish, whelp. I have let this charade go on long enough…" the mage replied.

"It means, you should fear me, for I _will_ kill you. I will kill you and all your cronies." Ronan threatened. Magnus laughed in disbelief. With a whooping call, Ronan surged forward, intending to strike down Magnus. But the mage brought his staff down onto the deck and he was knocked back by a burst of intense cold. Magnus chuckled in glee.

Angry, Ronan picked himself up, and glancing back at the hunters and the Grey Wardens, he gave a slight nod of his head. With that they all shuffled forward, engaging the slavers into a fierce battle, chaos erupting all over the ship's deck. He looked to Tristan, who acknowledged him with a slight nod of his own. Assured that Tristan would battle Magnus for the moment, he made his way to the captives, to his father, and attacked the man holding his father on a leash. The man no longer had a sadistic smirk. He tried to parry Ronan's furious swings, but backed into a corner, he could do nothing but watch and pray as Ronan cut him down, taking his life away from him.

Ronan grabbed the man's sword and walked over to his father. He cut Silas free of his bounds, removing the gag and the blindfold. Wincing at the bright sun, Silas did not recognize his son at first glance.

"Father, take this." Ronan placed the sword into Silas's hand. Silas looked at his son and with a slight smile, slapped him on the back.

"Let us take vengeance, my son." Silas said, moving toward Magnus, who was still in the center of the deck, sending a field of chaotic swirling energy that hit several elves, causing them to shriek in pain. He was interrupted, however, by a shockwave of arcane energy, sent over to him by Tristan, who had grabbed a staff from a lesser, now dead Tevinter mage.

Seeing an opportunity to get at Magnus, Ronan rushed forward and swung at the mage. Magnus brought his staff up to block the swing, looking around for help. But it would not come; all his mercenaries were otherwise engaged in the battle. With a grunt, he pushed Ronan back. Ronan smiled at the mage's efforts. He stepped aside and let Silas have a go at Magnus. It was only fair that his father got a crack at the mage who had so humiliated him, who had tried to enslave his clan.

Magnus sent magic shooting out of his staff, but Ronan was able to absorb it with his shield. Silas, however, didn't have a shield and so had to duck out of the way, but the magic still hit him. Furious, Ronan erupted into a violent rage. This had gone on long enough. Magnus would die. He struck out at the mage, cutting him, stabbing him in several places. Magnus cried out, tried to use his staff, but Ronan knocked it away. The mage was losing energy. With satisfaction, Ronan landed the final blow. Magnus was finished. So much for being powerful. Without his cronies to protect him, he was as good as dead.

Ronan helped his father up. He glanced around him. The mercenaries were still fighting, even though Magnus was dead. Ronan rejoined the fray, battling it out against the mercenaries. A Qunari singled him out, pushing him backwards, away from the pack. Ronan was getting quite sick of fighting these giants. They were very tiresome. Right now, he could feel his energy waning. The Qunari swung at him mercilessly. He blocked each blow with his shield, but could not get in a good counter swing. They were fighting in the shadows of the ship's sails. But the Qunari pushed him back and the sun's bright glare caught in his vision. Ronan was blinded for a second. The Qunari knocked away his shield.

_The gods give me strength to kill this giant._ Ronan found himself praying as the Qunari relentlessly hacked at him. Without his shield, it was getting harder to defend himself. And no one was close enough to help. The Qunari had trapped him, and Ronan knew it.

…

Siofra's chest hurt, her throat burned, she had trouble breathing, and coughed up blood every now and then. She was so weak. She had wanted to give up so many times, had wanted to just pass out and die, but Silas had selfishly kept her going.

She had been angry with Silas when she found out that he had sent Ronan away. Whatever did he do that for? She had brushed him away and given him the silent treatment in retaliation. Now, however, now she was grateful that Ronan had been sent away. She didn't think she could bear seeing her son sold into slavery. Herself, she didn't care very much for. She would be dead soon enough anyway. She could feel it in her bones. There was nothing that could save her. But Silas, she had begged Silas to just let her die, to save himself, to save the clan. He was stubborn; he shielded her from the slavers, he caressed her lovingly with hope in his eyes. His clan was falling apart around him, his wife – who did not love him as much as he loved her – was dying, he would soon be a slave, and yet he still had hope.

And then, they had separated them. They had thrown Siofra into a cabin on the ship with a few other women. They had locked the door. The women had surrounded her, encouraging her to stay awake. But she wanted to give up so badly.

There had been a time when she was young when life, being alive, was all that had mattered. To live another day, to hope to see her love again – Rory, she thought with fondness – was all she needed to keep her going. And then, when he had died, her son, Alim – Tristan – was all that drove her forward. Hope that she would see him again after she foolishly gave him up. She _had_ seen him again, alive and well. She could die now.

Siani, Silas's older sister, clutched at her furiously, begging her to stay awake. They needed her, Siani cried, they needed her strength. There was shuffling on the deck. Siofra stared at the door with detachment, her eyes glazing over. Shouting could be heard outside.

"We are saved!" Siani cried out, propping Siofra up. Siofra ignored her. She couldn't grasp what was happening. The door burst open, the women rushed out. Siani dragged Siofra with her and then stopped and gasped loudly in shock.

Siofra blinked back to reality. She saw the slavers scrambling for cover as a mage sent bolts of lightning towards them. For a moment, she thought she had shifted back in time to twenty five years ago. She saw Rory casting lightning at a group of Templars as she drifted away in a river current. The mage turned around. She saw his face. It was not Rory, but their son, _Alim…Tristan_. Tristan looked to the far side where a fierce swordfight was going on. She followed his worried gaze… _Ronan_.

A giant and powerful Qunari had him cornered. Ronan blocked the giant's strikes, but the Qunari had knocked Ronan's sword and shield away. And then she fainted in Siani's arms as she saw the blade rip through the air and slice through Ronan's hand, her son's blood squirting everywhere, and his hand rolling with a thud onto the deck of the ship.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

The voices sounded far away, almost unrecognizable.

"Perhaps you should take this ship to Denerim. The captain, the crew is still alive. I'm sure you will have no problems forcing their hand, should they decide to mutiny."

"You're right. The King can help us."

"He has healers. They can do more for my family than I can…"

"And you, what will you do?"

His arm twitched, a spasm of pain shot through his body. A moan escaped his mouth. He jerked into a sitting position, but somebody held him down.

"He's waking!" they – a woman – shouted to the others. He heard the thud of their footsteps come nearer. Then it seemed as if somebody magically turned on his hearing, for he heard everything clearly now. He heard the sound of water crashing onto wood. He heard the cries of birds, the rustling of clothes. It was almost too much for him. Where was he?

Slowly, but surely, his eyes blinked open. He saw the blue sky, the birds that had been calling out, and the sun. The sun beat down on him, made it hurt to open his eyes. He shut them tight again. His head rolled around. He wanted to go back to sleep anyway. He was in so much pain. But they didn't let him. Somebody clutched at his chin and lifted his head.

"_Da'mi_, open your eyes again," pleaded a man. _Da'mi_, little blade? He hadn't been called that in ages. Who was trying to embarrass him, when all he wanted to do was sleep?

Furious, Ronan opened his eyes. He was going to give them a piece of his mind and then he was going to go back to sleep. Instead, he was shocked to find his father looking at him sadly. He tried to call out to his father, but his mouth was dry. As Ronan's vision adjusted to the bright light, he noticed Tristan crouching down in front of him as well. Tristan handed Silas a flask and Silas forced the thing onto Ronan's mouth. _Ah, water_, Ronan thought as he gulped it down. He hadn't realized how thirsty he was.

He was still a little confused though. Why was he in so much pain? Where was he? Where was his mother? He tried to push himself up into a sitting position with his hands but instead hissed in pain as his shield hand touched the wooden floor. He held it up in his line of sight to see what was wrong – and then he remembered. His hand wasn't there. His arm was covered in cloth right now and it would be easy to believe that it was still there. It felt like it was still there. But he remembered. The Qunari had sliced it off effortlessly. After that, he recalled nothing.

"No…" he croaked. The person who had been holding him before pulled him up and placed him by a wall of a cabin. It was Melisende. She gave him a sympathetic look before rearranging the cloth on his stump.

"Don't move, Ronan. Just stay still," she commanded gently. He turned away from her. He didn't want her to see him this way. He focused instead on his father.

"Your mother is alive. But I will not lie to you, it does not look good," Silas said before Ronan could ask. Ronan winced in pain. What kind of nightmare had he woken to? May the gods have mercy on him and just let him sleep…

"Ronan, we will get her help. And we will get you help." Tristan tried to reassure him. He wished Tristan would go away. He couldn't stand to be gawked at like this, like he was some kind of useless nobody. He turned his face to the side and ignored them all.

"I would like a moment alone with my son." Ronan heard Silas say. Tristan and Melisende shuffled away. Ronan turned to his father in anger.

"Why did you send me away? I could have prevented all of this from happening…" it took all of his strength to rebuff his father. He felt like passing out, but now he wanted to stay awake. He wanted to hear what his father had to say.

Silas sighed. "My son, you may have been a man for a few years, by virtue of your tattoos, by virtue of your age, but as for actual virtues – you were lacking."

Ronan frowned and moaned as another spasm of pain flew through his body. His father's words had hurt, ripped right down to his core. He was about to open his mouth to protest them, to defend himself, but Silas stopped him.

"I sent you away not only for your mother's sake. I wanted you to grow up. I wanted you to have the chance to realize the world. To see it as I never did. And I see now that you have changed; even if only a little." Silas smiled then and ruffled Ronan's hair. "I am proud of you, my son."

Ronan never meant it to happen, but it did. He cried a little. He was in so much pain, he was so confused; he had lost his hand, he might lose his mother, and now his father was telling him how proud he was of him. He had never expected that. Silas had always been hard on him.

"Am I dying, father?" Ronan asked with a grin, wiping away the tears from his face with his only hand.

Silas chuckled and shook his head. "No, my son, you are not dying. I am sending you away again, though, so that you may get better and help your mother get better."

Ronan groaned. "To Denerim?"

"Yes."

"You are not coming?"

Silas regarded Ronan sadly. "I cannot go to Denerim, not right now. I will return to our clan. They need me just as much as my family. I can help them, while I cannot help my family. You will be in good hands, though." Silas looked behind him at Tristan. Normally, Ronan would have rolled his eyes in annoyance, wondering why even his own father liked Tristan. But something had changed in him. The bitterness toward Tristan had subsided.

"_Dareth shiral,_ father." Ronan said. His father smiled, returned the farewell, and left his side.

…

After Silas had left, Melisende returned to Ronan's side, much to his delight and dread. While he wanted her company, he didn't want her to sit by his side and send him looks of pity.

"How are you feeling?" she asked as she took a seat by him.

"You're kidding right?" he gave her a questioning look.

"You're right," Melisende admitted with a playful smile, "that was a stupid thing to ask. Even so, you don't look so good."  
"I will admit, this one time, that I am weak. So very weak. And I would like nothing more than to complain out loud about the pain… but that isn't my style." Ronan replied.

"Suck it up, right?" Melisende joked. Ronan nodded. He was surprised at how much she remembered about him. He didn't think she cared about him, other than needing his help to find Tristan. Maybe they were friends after all.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" Melisende asked seriously.

Ronan thought of how he had awoken in her arms. He turned to her with a mischievous grin. "Hold me?"

Melisende laughed. The sound of her laugh sent a warm feeling throughout his body, helping him to forget his pain for a few seconds. She shook her head and sighed, but then held out her arms to him, gesturing for him to come forward. "I don't know why I am doing this, but come."

A little surprised that she had agreed, Ronan went to her and rested his head on her shoulder. She brushed away his hair from his face. It was wet with sweat and blood. He must look like a complete mess. But she didn't seem to care. He closed his eyes as she caressed his head.

"You're not going to start purring, are you?" Melisende joked.

"If you want me to…" Ronan replied, sleepily. It was getting harder to keep awake now. Maybe he should just surrender to the sleep…

"I would like to hear you sing again." Melisende said quietly.

Ronan jerked his eyes open. He found himself blushing, of all things. He was glad his face was a bloody mess and that he was not facing her. He thought back to the village, when he had agreed to sing Eleri's daughter to sleep. He had only done it as a favour to his cousin's wife. She was so distraught, he couldn't refuse. Usually, he never liked to sing. It was his mother who sometimes urged him to, though he had only ever sung to children and never in front of the other hunters. "You heard that?"

"Yes. You have a beautiful voice." Melisende replied.

"Well, I hope you have a good memory, because that is the only time you'll ever hear me sing…" Ronan retorted. He closed his eyes and refused to say anything more. In any case, he was exhausted, and drained. He fell asleep.

…

After Tristan had had a harsh word with the ship's captain and they were finally on their way to Denerim, he decided to check on Ronan. He found him lying in Melisende's arms, asleep. A little shocked at the scene, he didn't know what to say.

"We must get him help… and soon." Melisende warned as Tristan crouched by them.

"Can't you just let me sleep in peace?" Ronan groaned as he opened his eyes.

"Uh, sorry." Melisende apologized. "I didn't mean to wake you."

Tristan regarded the two curiously, wondering at the playful looks they sent each other. Had they gotten that close? He shrugged off his curiousity and focused on Ronan.

"Brother," the word, directed at Ronan for the first time, felt strange on his tongue. He had to pause to gather his wits. "You fought well."

Ronan frowned. Perhaps that wasn't the best thing to say, considering his last fight did not go so well, but it was the truth. Ronan may have rushed into things without thought, but there was no doubt in Tristan's mind that Ronan had the heart of a warrior and the skills to match. He wondered, though, how Ronan would fight with only one hand… if he survived.

"How is she?" Ronan asked, through pain, changing the subject.

"They will be able to help her in Denerim. Don't worry about her." Tristan glanced worriedly at Melisende. Truth be told, for the moment he was more worried about Ronan. He had lost a lot of blood. There was no telling if infection had set in. There was only one thing to do and Tristan needed all his energy to do it.

Tristan closed his eyes and concentrated deeply. There were times when he had been able to dip into the Fade's healing stores. Most of the time, he had left it up to mages better suited to spirit healing, like Wynne or Anders. But neither of them were around and he didn't want to take a chance and wait for one to show up in Denerim. He recalled what he knew and summoned a wave of that healing energy from the Fade. It came out through his hands, blue and soothing, and washed over a surprised Ronan.

Ronan immediately felt himself get stronger, the magic encasing him in a warm and soothing embrace, eradicating most of the pain. Granted, he was still quite weak and still felt a phantom tugging at the stump where his hand used to be, but the intense pain was gone.

Tristan, on the other hand, collapsed at Ronan's side, drained.

"Tristan!" Melisende called out in alarm and would have rushed to his aid had she not already been holding Ronan.

But Tristan waved her away anyway, not wanting her to be concerned over him. He stumbled awkwardly back to his feet and clutched his head in slight agony. "I'll be fine."

Melisende frowned, but accepted his answer.

Without another word, Tristan walked away, making his way over to the cabin where Siofra rested. He opened the door and walked in. She lay on blankets looking very pale. She had not awakened since fainting on deck. Tristan wished there was something he could do for her, but he was only good at mending visible wounds, not an invisible sickness.

"Tristan," Ronan called out behind him. With great effort, he hobbled into the cabin with the help of Melisende. Glancing at his mother with sadness, he turned his attention back to Tristan. "Thank you."


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Denerim's harbor was bustling with business again. It had taken a while after the Blight, but eventually the traders, the travelers, and unfortunately, the smugglers, had all returned to Ferelden's capital city. A tall, hooded, man leaned against a dock post, clutching at a bright, red apple. He took a large bite, chewing it slowly while surveying the sea.

_Ah, good ol' Ferelden apples – slightly out of season, but delicious just the same_. The man savored the sweet taste of the apple, a taste he had almost forgotten. He turned away from the sea as he heard approaching footsteps, heavy and loud, though the man making them was a dwarf. The dwarf, clean shaven and bald, walked over to him with an assured swagger. The dwarf paused just beside him.

"Please tell me the ship is ready to go." The man said quietly.

"As soon as that ship gets out of our way, Llomerynn, here we come." The dwarf replied loudly.

The man shuddered in disgust as he bit into a piece of the apple which harbored a worm. He spit it out and tossed the rest of the apple into the sea. "Good. This town gets sour fast."

The dwarf chuckled at his misfortune. He ignored the dwarf, keeping a wary eye on a trio of Templars marching along the docks.

"But you always take the runs here. You're always the first one to volunteer to the boss. Ancestors know it ain't been easy since Alistair became king." The dwarf pondered aloud.

The man shrugged. "What can I say? I have an incurable urge to see this dump every once and a while."

The dwarf looked a little confused. "Why? Ferelden lasses, for one, are so uptight. And the smell of wet dog? It's everywhere. Not to mention, even the Pearl is tame compared to home. I'd take Llomerynn's vices over Denerim any day."

The man winced as a passerby gave them a curious yet suspicious glance. "You might speak a little louder, dwarf."

"We're untouchable." The dwarf confidently replied.

The man sighed. He certainly wasn't going to get into that with the dwarf. The dwarf knew too much already. He ignored the dwarf and instead focused his attention on the trio of Templars making their way toward him.

"The Grey Warden is an apostate." One of them said.

"We ought to be able to arrest him. Just because he ended the Blight, are we to turn a blind eye to his abilities?" asked the other. The man listened with slight interest. He hadn't heard much about the Blight.

"If anything, that makes him more dangerous. With ideas of power in his head, who knows what he is capable of?" the first Templar replied. It always amused the man to know how frightened Templars were of mages. He wondered always why those kinds even became Templars.

The trio was passing right by him now. He couldn't help himself. He kicked his leg out, tripping the nearest Templar, the one who had been frightened about the power of the Grey Warden. The Templar fell in a tumble of metal and dust. His fellow Templars helped him up quickly. Just as fast, the man turned away with a smile on his face. They hadn't noticed him.

The dwarf gave him a questioning look as the Templars continued on their way. _Probably still waiting for an answer…_ Well, the dwarf wouldn't get one. Instead, he focused on the ship making its way into the harbor. It pulled up to the docks slowly.

"What's the deal with that ship anyway?" he asked the dwarf.

The dwarf shrugged, but loving to hear the sound of his own voice, he relayed what he had heard from their own ship's captain. "Apparently, the navy wasn't going to let it through – it's Tevinter and reeks of criminality. But the Commander of the Grey is on it. He rescued a bunch of useless Dalish from slavers."

The man stiffened at the mention of the Dalish. He had known a few, back in the days of his youth. Curious now, he edged closer to the ship, which had finally docked. Soldiers entered onto the ship, arresting the crew. And then two men carried out a litter. He guessed one was the Commander, for the bystanders, and there were a lot that had gathered by this time, pointed and said things like "hero" and "Grey Warden". But frankly, he was more interested in the occupant of the litter. Something was drawing his attention to it.

He pushed through the crowd, using his height to his advantage and craning over heads to see better. The dwarf, to his utter annoyance, followed.

At the front of the crowd, he stopped. The men were carrying a woman – a Dalish elf. His heart seemed to jump out of his chest at that moment as he realized he knew who she was.

"Dwarf," he said sharply, staring at the litter pass by. "Delay our departure."

"What! What for?" the dwarf asked, perplexed.

"Just do it." He left the docks then and followed the progress of the litter, not letting it out of his sight for one second.

…

"Thank you, Alistair." Tristan said once the room only contained the three of them, Alistair, Melisende, and himself, the Grey Wardens of old.

"I would never turn away a friend in need… even if that _friend_ disappeared without a word." Alistair replied, arching a brow questioningly at Tristan.

"I guess I deserve that look. Know that it wasn't planned." He paused and ran a hand through his hair. What more could he say? "It just happened."

"Right." Alistair frowned. Tristan guessed he'd have to be straight with Alistair. He had let him down after all. He was supposed to have been back at the Keep, commanding the Grey Wardens. But he had run off. Alistair never would have run.

"Honestly. After I decided not to come back, I thought it would be better to just vanish. If I had told you – you would have held me back. I needed that time." Tristan tried to explain.

"Not true. I would never force you to do something you didn't want to do. All you had to do was speak up." Alistair said.

"Well, it's a little late to find that out." Tristan couldn't help but chuckle. What would have happened if he had come back? Alistair would have given him a leave of absence, and then what? Would Ronan have found him? Would they have been able to save his mother's clan? His mother? He never would have seen Brenna again. There was no point in dwelling on the what ifs. What had happened was more important at the moment. "Besides, I have some pretty relentless and stubborn friends."

Alistair looked to Melisende, who shrugged.

"I don't give up easily where my friends are concerned," she said, smiling.

Alistair turned his attention back to Tristan. "Now that you are back, you are returning to your duties, right?"

"Yes." Tristan said without hesitation. This almost surprised him. He hadn't really thought about it since Brenna's house. He realized that he belonged at the head of the Grey Wardens. Alistair looked relieved at his answer. He wouldn't have to find a replacement, though Tristan didn't think replacing him would have been very hard – Melisende was as good as if not a better leader than he was.

"Good. Now that that is out of the way, I am curious, about your Dalish friends." Alistair asked curiously.

"Ah, yes." Tristan sighed, thinking of his mother hanging on to dear life. "Siofra… she is my mother."

Alistair looked a little surprised. "Really?"

Tristan nodded.

"Unfortunately, that means, not to be rude here, but that impolite whelp, what's his name again? Robert, no Ro-, Rodney, no…" Alistair struggled to remember his brother's name. Tristan chuckled.

"Ronan?" Melisende spoke up.

"Yes, Ronan! That's it. Anyway, _he_ is your brother?" Alistair asked.

Tristan laughed.

Melisende frowned and looked crossly at Alistair. "Hey, he's not so bad after all."

Alistair looked curiously at Melisende. "If you say so, Mel."

"Mel's right. He's… different now. Hopefully that will last. In any case… Siofra, I hardly know her. Now I may never get the chance to…" Tristan had to look away. If the situation wasn't so dire, he might laugh at the irony of it all. He finally believed the woman's story, he finally was willing to embrace her as his mother, and she might not even make it through the night.

Alistair placed a hand on his shoulder. "We've got great healers. I'll even send for Wynne if we have to."

"Thank you again, Alistair." Tristan paced around the room, feeling helpless. He felt his fellow Grey Wardens watching him intently, like curious children, waiting for a handout. He stopped and looked at them. "Okay, spit it out. I know what you both are itching to ask. So ask it."

"Yay!" Alistair sarcastically cried out. "I thought you'd never give us the chance."  
Melisende rolled her eyes. "We know that you found Morrigan. What happened?"

Tristan sighed. He had been expecting this, ever since Melisende had found him at Brenna's place. But they had gotten distracted. He didn't exactly know what to say. "Morrigan was… Morrigan for lack of a better word."

Alistair coughed. "Ahem, bitch?"

Tristan chuckled and then smirked. "I would never say that of her. She's cold, cruel, and a little haughty, but she's certainly not a female dog." And she had her positive moments, though Tristan wasn't going to argue that with his fellow Wardens. They were set on believing the worst of Morrigan. He didn't blame them, really, but he was eager to put her behind him. She didn't deserve to be defended by him, not after the way she had used him, even if it saved his life in the end.

"Oh, just get on with it." Melisende prodded, annoyed.

"Right. On a more serious note, she is the mother of my child. She was very evasive. She wouldn't tell me her plans, only reassured me that he was fine." Tristan recalled his short meeting with Morrigan.

"A son then?" Alistair asked.

"A son with no name." Tristan replied.

"She didn't even let you see him? Or tell you his name?" Melisende asked in disbelief.

"Like I said, she was very evasive. She blabbered on about change and warned me of Flemeth." Tristan explained.

"Flemeth? We killed her." Alistair pointed out.

"Apparently not." Tristan replied.

"So you let Morrigan go?" Melisende asked, probably for the sake of hearing the rest of the story. He knew that it was probably obvious to her that he did.

"What else could I do? I warned her though, that if I ever heard of her using our child for evil, that I would come for him. I would…" Tristan didn't finish the sentence. _Kill her_, he thought. He didn't want to say it out loud. It sounded so cold blooded. Melisende put a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"There's no need to say anything more," she said quietly, understanding his thoughts. He gave her a grateful look.

"So it sounds as if you didn't get the closure you needed…" Alistair inquired.

"Closure?" Tristan thought for a moment. He remembered his trip to the Fade, the demon taunting him with his son. "No. Peace of mind? Perhaps. Time will tell."

Alistair looked toward the doorway behind Tristan with interest. He began to fidget. Anora, perhaps? Puzzled, Tristan turned his head enough to see what was bothering Alistair. It wasn't Anora, it was Leliana. He closed his eyes and braced himself.

"So, um, Mel, do you want to see my statuette collection?" Alistair asked Melisende, taking her by the elbow. Melisende looked confused at this sudden turn in conversation. He was trying to give Tristan time alone with Leliana.

"Still playing with dolls, Alistair?" Melisende teased.

"They are not dolls! They are action figures. Come. I'll show you." Alistair began leading her away.

"Now?" Melisende asked. Then she saw Leliana. Melisende sent a concerned look toward Tristan, but allowed herself to be led away by Alistair.

"Yeah, why not?" Alistair paused at the doorway, acknowledging Leliana. Melisende placed a concerned hand on Leliana's arm, and then they left. Leliana had eyes only for Tristan.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Tristan felt his heart race as Leliana made her way slowly toward him. She was as beautiful as ever. Her red hair framed her face perfectly and her blue eyes shone elegantly in the dim light off the window. She still sent a tingle down his spine. He didn't know what to expect from her. Many women had described Tristan as a charmer, able to win over a woman with words alone – if his handsome face didn't make them swoon first. But now, he was at a loss for words. This beautiful, confident woman, he had hurt her deeply. There was no amount, no combination of words that could set everything to right.

"So you found Morrigan." Leliana halted in front of him. It was not a question, but a statement.

Tristan inclined his head. "How much did you hear?"

"Enough." Leliana replied, gazing at him intently. She looked a little sad.

"Leliana…" Tristan whispered. "I am sorry…"

Leliana turned away swiftly. "I did not come here to see you hoping for an apology." She walked over to the window and made a show of looking out of it, though Tristan doubted she was actually paying attention to the outside. "I have thought about this long and hard. What I would say to you, what I would do. I know you are sorry, Tristan, but for what? For getting caught? Or for the act of betrayal itself?"

Tristan took a deep breath. He had to admit, she had a point. On the one hand, he was sorry he ever told her what had happened with Morrigan, but on the other hand he was sorry that he betrayed her. He wasn't sorry, though, that he, Alistair, and Melisende were alive, as a result of that betrayal. There was another thing he was certain about. "I am sorry that I hurt you."

Leliana sighed. That was not the answer she was looking for. He realized that to her, it was probably just more filth coming out of his mouth. Though, honestly, he couldn't really tell anymore what she was thinking. They had been so long apart now.

"I don't want to spend this time arguing with you." Leliana said, walking back toward him.

"Are you going somewhere?" Tristan asked.

Leliana nodded.

"Where?" Tristan pushed his luck. She was leaving… he wasn't sure how he felt about that.

"It doesn't matter, does it?" she quickly held up a hand to stifle any answer he came up with, "Don't answer that. What we had, it was special. But it was never meant to last. I see now, that the Maker left us with only two possible outcomes – either you died or you betrayed me."

"Leliana, it doesn't have to be that way…"

"I tell you now, that I forgive you. I see why you did what you did. I understand. But… you hid it from me for so long. You never bothered to tell me. I can't trust you anymore. Too much has happened. Too much has changed between us for me to come back to you. I am sorry Tristan, we cannot be together anymore." Leliana truly did look sorry.

That was no comfort to Tristan though. He should have expected this. Maybe he had even hoped she would release him. But it still hurt. He had only brought it upon himself though.

"If that is truly what you want, Leliana, then I will not object." Tristan stated, looking at Leliana for clear confirmation.

"It is what I want." Leliana replied, her voice tinged with sadness. "Thank you, Tristan."

"Will I ever see you again?" he asked as she turned around, heading for the doorway. She paused and then turned around slightly.

"I should think so. I love Ferelden too much to stay away on your account." She was about to step forward again, but hesitated.

"Will it always be so bitter between us?" Tristan inquired.

"We shall see, won't we?" With those words, Leliana continued to the door. She paused before passing through it and looked back at Tristan. It felt like his heart broke at that moment.

"Farewell, Leliana." Tristan said.

"I hope you know what you've done." Leliana said wistfully. "Morrigan's intentions… they are about as good as a hired assassin's."

With those words and without looking back, Leliana left the room.

Tristan stood alone in the room. He felt… relieved. He would always love Leliana, he was certain of that. But it was a weight off his shoulders. He wished her the best, he truly did. If he could go back in time, he probably would still go through with the ritual, but he would have told Leliana everything from the start. However, try as he might, he could not warp time. It had turned out alright, after all… for now. He shuddered involuntarily as an image of his son flashed through his mind. Only time would tell of Morrigan's true intentions. He pushed the dark thoughts out of his mind.

For the moment, he only hoped things would also turn out alright for his mother.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

The hooded man didn't think it would be that easy. But it had been. He had made it into the palace unnoticed. His spell had kept him hidden. It had been like a walk in the park. Now, he only had to find her room. This, he guessed, would be the hard part. There were so many rooms in the palace. If he knew her at all, however, he guessed that she might be in a room overlooking the garden. So he headed in that direction, or at least what he thought was the right direction.

He came to a long hallway with windows all along the side, letting in bright shafts of sunlight all along the floor. At the end of the hall was another window. He peeked through it. The garden. He turned to the doorway right near it. It was closed. There was no telling what was behind it. He took a deep breath and the door creaked open slowly by his hand.

A young Dalish man looked up in surprise, his familiar looking blue eyes glinting in the sunlight. He sat in a chair by a bed. She lay in the bed, looking deathly pale and breathing very lightly. He sucked in his breath. He hadn't realized how much it would hurt to see her…

"Who are you?" the young man asked, startling him. He also hadn't expected anyone to be here, though he didn't know why. She was special…

He closed his eyes and sent a wave of magic toward the young man, putting him to sleep instantly. He would not remember him being here when he woke up. That was the way he wanted it to be. No, it was the way it had to be.

He walked slowly toward the bed, hesitation in his steps. Now that he was here, what did he want, exactly? He really looked at her now. If he saw past her illness, she was just the same as he remembered her.

"Siofra," he whispered as he took her hand. She was unconscious; her hand was hot. He brushed the hair away from her face. It was still golden. With a pang, he noticed a small streak of grey. She was not that old, really, but what did he expect? He caressed the tattoos on her face, remembering each line, each curve as if they were once again fresh. He leaned over and brushed his lips onto her forehead.

Sighing, he leaned back and withdrew a small dagger from beneath his cloak. He shifted his cloak so that his left forearm was visible. Bunching his left hand into a fist, he took the dagger and cut deeply along his forearm so that he would bleed. Sheathing the dagger, he placed his right hand onto Siofra and closed his eyes, furrowing his brow in concentration.

The blood on his arm bubbled. Slowly it dissolved into a clear blue energy. Shaking now, he sent it toward Siofra. The energy enveloped her, encasing her into a blue glow before being absorbed into her body. And then he let go, breathing hard. He was suddenly very weak. But it was worth it. Already, he could see her color returning.

What he would give to see her smile. To hear her sweet, melodious voice in speech, and in song. But he couldn't be here when she woke up. He took her hand in his own again. He savored the feel of her, the sight of her. In the back of his mind, he was aware of footsteps in the hall. He needed to go.

Reluctantly, he let go of her hand, and stood up with effort. Dizzy, he caught his balance and then made his way to the doorway. He hoped it was only the footsteps of a servant, for he had no more energy to cast another spell.

As he launched himself through the doorway and into the hall, he found himself colliding with a solid man his own height. He fell backward, his hood coming undone, revealing his face.

"Apologies," the man said, extending his hand toward him to help him up. Avoiding looking the man directly in the face, for he did not want anyone to be able to describe him, he accepted the hand. The man pulled him up and in that action, his cloak shifted, revealing the fresh cut on his arm.

"Are you alright?" the man asked. He took the chance to look the man in the eye. It was the Grey Warden. His heart nearly stopped right then and there as a strange feeling of knowing washed over him. He shifted his gaze downward and backed away.

"Who are you?" the Grey Warden asked suspiciously. He continued to back away. The Warden grabbed at him and held him by the cloak. He asked him again who he was.

"Tristan!" Siofra called out from the room. His heart fluttered at the sound of her voice. The Warden shifted his attention. He jerked away and was out of the Warden's reach by the time the Warden looked back at him. He disappeared around the hall. It was for the best.

…

"Siofra?" Tristan asked incredulously as he entered her room and saw that she was awake. "You are awake?"

"Ronan…" she pointed to Ronan, who had fallen off the chair beside the bed. Tristan went over to him and hauled him back up. He tapped his face a few times in an effort to wake him up. Slowly but surely his eyelids fluttered open.

"What happened?" he asked Ronan.

Groggily, he shook his head. "I don't know. I was awake one minute and asleep the next."

"Thank the gods you are alive." Siofra remarked from the bed. Ronan looked to her in shock.

"_Mamae_?" he rushed by her side and clutched her hand. She noticed his missing hand.

"Your hand?" she asked him in deep concern.

"It does not matter. You are alive." Ronan reassured her. He had a look of pure disbelief on his face. Tristan felt quite the same way. Everyone had thought she would die. But here she was, awake. Her color had returned. She was lucid.

"I thought for sure you had been killed… what happened?" Siofra asked worriedly.

"I… I blacked out after losing my hand. I never thought to ask what happened after that." Ronan answered. He looked to Tristan for answers.

"I froze the Qunari. The others were able to pull you away before more harm could be done." Tristan explained. Ronan looked at him in slight disbelief.

"You saved me?" he asked.

Tristan shrugged. He looked at Siofra, who looked between the two with what Tristan could only take to be pride. Ronan frowned as he caught the look Siofra gave Tristan.

"I know who he is."

Siofra turned to Ronan in surprise. She opened her mouth to say something but Ronan would not let her continue.

"He is your son. You could have told me… instead I heard it hiding in the shadows, like a spy."

"I am sorry I kept this from you Ronan. You were not the only one I hid this from." Siofra replied sorrowfully.

"Even father knew. And he didn't think to tell me before sending me off on a wild goose chase. A little honesty would have been nice, even if I did already know the truth. Didn't I deserve to know the truth?" Ronan asked Siofra, a hurt look on his face.

A little uncomfortable at being the subject of the discussion, Tristan decided to change the subject quickly.

"Um, how are you feeling?" Tristan asked Siofra.

Ronan sighed, but let the matter drop for the moment. Siofra sent him an apologetic look. "We will talk more about this later." She turned to Tristan with a smile. "I am feeling better than ever."

Tristan was happy, of course, but he couldn't shake off the suspicious feeling that was nagging at him. Why had Ronan been asleep, asleep as if from a spell? And that mysterious man, who was he? The cut on his arm… the way he would not look at Tristan… the way he ran off… the way that Siofra miraculously awakened right as he left. It was all very odd. For the moment, he shrugged it off. He could see that Siofra had many questions.

…

Later, though, as he slept away the day's events, Tristan found himself dreaming. That same dream he frequently had. The dream of his childhood, the memory, really, of discovering he had magical abilities. The mage in the back streets of Denerim crouched down to show him the way to make fire out of nothing… and he woke up in a sweat, his heart pounding. The mage in his dream… the man coming from Siofra's room… they were the same person. He felt a chill run down his spine. What was that man's purpose? Why had he helped Siofra, with blood magic, he was sure of it now? The cut, it had seemed unimportant at the time, but now that Tristan was sure the man was a mage, a _maleficar_, it all made sense. All had thought Siofra would die, until Tristan had caught the mage leaving her room. He had cured Siofra. What for?

All he could do was toss, turn and wonder. But no answers came to him. None that made any sense anyway.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

A few days later, Melisende strolled through the garden, hoping to find Ronan. She pulled her cloak around her tighter for it was cold. The air felt heavy, like it would snow any minute now. She saw him as she turned a corner. He sat on a wooden fence, his hair flittering loose in the wind.

"I thought I'd find you here," she said, grasping on to the wooden fence.

Ronan looked up, a little startled and flashed her a smile. "You are leaving?"

So he already knew. "Yes. I received a letter from Nathaniel. Things are not so well at the Keep."

Melisende fought down her worry. She would think of those things when she got to them. For now, she concentrated on Ronan. He nodded and said nothing for a few moments, just listening to the sounds of the palace. The garden was not at all peaceful. Voices drifted from the guards, from across the wall, and from the kitchen door not far away. He must be anxious to get back to the forest, where peaceful actually was silence.

"I guess this is goodbye." Ronan finally said.

"No," Melisende rebuffed him quickly, "it is see you later."

Ronan smiled. "For what it's worth, _sh_-, Melisende, thank you."

"For what?" Melisende was puzzled.

"For helping me. For putting up with me." Ronan replied.

Melisende couldn't help it, she laughed. "Yes, I should receive some sort of medal. Or perhaps a plaque with a commemorative that says _I survived traveling with Ronan, the world's most insufferable elf_. Yes, I think that would be nice."

Ronan grinned and then fixated his gaze on his stump of a hand, covered still in bandages. Melisende took note, pity welling up inside of her. She knew what it was like to be injured, but this – this was more than cruel. Ronan was lucky that it was not his sword hand and that it hadn't gotten infected. Too many soldiers had died from losing a limb. He had survived, but Ronan would never be able to use a bow again. She didn't know how he would hunt. She knew how much stock Dalish put in those abilities.

"I will miss you Ronan," she croaked and swallowed back a sob. _Really, Mel, _she thought, _is it that hard to leave him?_

Ronan turned to her. His blue eyes sparkled in the sunlight and streaks of red glistened in his hair. He looked forlorn and weary. Melisende found herself having to catch her breath. He was gorgeous. She imagined he looked like an elven god, albeit a tragic one. Suddenly, he grinned mischievously.

"I will miss you too," he said as he jumped off the fence and wrapped his arms around her. Taken by surprise, it took Melisende a few seconds before she returned the hug.

As he let her go, an elven serving woman came shyly up to them.

"Pardon me for interrupting, but your mother is calling for you," the serving woman looked to Ronan.

"I will be there soon." Ronan acknowledged the servant. She blushed and then turned around quickly to leave.

"You know, there was a time not so long ago when you would have been impolite to a girl such as that." Melisende pointed out curiously, recalling the time he had refused a drink from a "flat ear".

"I have seen the error of my ways. Not everybody is… evil." Ronan grinned, meeting Melisende eye to eye. It seemed to Melisende that he was talking about more than just the servant. Perhaps he meant that statement for Melisende and Tristan too.

"I'm glad you realized that." Melisende smiled.

"_Dareth shiral_, Grey Warden." Ronan declared, turning around slowly and following down the path the elven woman had taken. Melisende watched with a pang until he was no longer visible.

…

Later, as Melisende waited outside of the palace for Tristan to join her, she noticed a hole in her left boot. Annoyed, she crouched down to examine it closer. It wouldn't do to start off her journey home with a hole in her boot. Her long braid fell over her shoulder, momentarily distracting her view of the boot. As she went to flip it back, she noticed something stuck in the middle of the braid, something pink. She grabbed at it curiously, and standing up, she pulled it out of her hair.

"A flower?" she muttered questioningly to herself. However did that end up in her hair? Did flowers even grow this close to winter? And then she knew how it had gotten there; Ronan, his look of mischief as he had hugged her. The sly lout must have put it there.

Smiling to herself, Melisende carefully put the delicate flower in her pouch. She hadn't even noticed he was holding it. Then she looked around her, making sure that nobody had seen her. She had, after all, a reputation to keep up. Clutching at a flower, a pink flower no less, certainly wouldn't do it any good.

…

Tristan sat in front of Siofra, waiting for Ronan to come along. He had to leave, and soon. He had to say goodbye. He hadn't talked about anything serious to Siofra since she had awakened, not wanting to overwhelm her. But she had insisted he tell her all about himself. So he indulged her, warily at first. He didn't want to rush into anything. Now that she was better, they had all the time in the world to get to know each other. But then Nathaniel's letter had come. He absolutely had to go back to the Keep. The news had not reached the public yet, and he was grateful.

Ronan arrived, taking a seat next to Siofra. Siofra smiled, the way she always did when both of them were in the same room, a radiant and infectious smile.

"Your fellow Grey Warden came to visit with me. She told me how lucky I was to have two such fine sons." Siofra said. "She is right. You two are the best sons a mother could wish for."

Tristan frowned and Ronan looked embarrassed.

"You really don't know me that well. I am not perfect." Tristan stated.

"No, you are not. But who is perfect? Life would be boring if everyone was." Siofra replied with a smile. "I know that you ran away from your duties. Your father, he ran away, too. And in the end, it cost him his life."

Tristan was surprised. This was the first time she had mentioned his father. He was curious, but he really had to go. And frankly, he did not want to talk of his father in front of Ronan. He could feel Ronan's scowl without having to look across at him.

"But I also see, like your father, you are a fighter. You protect those you love with all you have to give. I am grateful for that." Siofra continued. Thankfully, she turned to Ronan at that moment. Tristan didn't think he could take any more praise from her, even if he was a little curious about his father.

"And you. You are every bit like your father as well. In his younger days, Silas was brash, cocky, and thought the worst of humans, for no good reason. But he changed. There is a softer side to him, just as there is to you. It is there, I know it is, even though you try to hide it." Siofra explained to Ronan, who looked a little flustered.

"And what of you Siofra? What have you passed on? I know not much about either of you, but I can see that you have raised Ronan very well…" Tristan began, but stopped. He didn't know what to say. He had missed out on being raised by his mother. He still found it too odd to even call her _mother_.

"What is this? We are not a bunch of little girls to be gushing over each other's character." Ronan interrupted with a frown, clearly irritated at the direction of the conversation.

Siofra laughed. "Oh Ronan, you never cease to amaze me."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Ronan asked a little defensively.

"Don't be so defensive, it is a good thing." Siofra replied with a smirk.

Ronan muttered something under his breath as Siofra ruffled his hair.

"In any case," Tristan changed the subject. "I must leave. My duties call me back. Alistair has said that you may spend the winter here… if you like." It was getting late, and he needed to be on his way.

Siofra looked a little disappointed, but she smiled faintly anyway. "I admit, I am not surprised. But I hope that in the future, you will come to visit. You are always welcome in my clan. _Your_ clan, for you saved us and you _are_ part of the family."  
Tristan wasn't going to make any promises, but neither was he going to walk out and never look back. "I will do my best…"

That was enough for Siofra, who finally had her son back in her life, even if he would be far away; she knew that he finally accepted her.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

_Dear Melisende,_

_I hear that you have finally found our Commander and that you are both now in Denerim. First, I would like to say that I miss you but that I am also very cross with you for going off on an adventure without me. I do understand, though. You are a loyal friend and that is one of the many things I love about you._

_Now, the hard part. When I returned to the Keep, everything was upside down. Anders did his best to keep order, but rumors of our Commander abandoning Amaranthine abounded. Faced without a hero to lead them, many soldiers and recruits lost heart and deserted while others simply stopped caring. _

_I've already gotten ahead of myself. Forgive me. I hope this letter will not be too confusing to follow, for there is no time to rewrite it. _

_I suppose the rumors must have reached the Chantry and the Circle of Magi long before other parts, for one day a Templar named Rolan came to Vigil's Keep, demanding to join the Wardens. I was not there at the time, so this is just second hand hearsay on my part, relayed to me mostly by Oghren. In any case, Anders was suspicious, believing Rolan was there only to keep an eye on him, an apostate in the eyes of the Chantry. It was thanks to Tristan and King Alistair that Anders was conscripted into the Grey Wardens, or so I'm told. I was not there when that happened either. With Tristan absent, the Chantry probably thought it a good time to send one of their own over. Anders couldn't exactly refuse Rolan, and much to his dismay, Rolan survived the Joining. _

_Rolan had followed Anders around on a few expeditions by the time I returned. Then one day, there were reports of a small group of darkspawn on the plains. Anders himself went to check it out, along with Justice and a few Grey Warden recruits, Rolan included. Might I say now that I am glad that I did not go along, because I surely would be dead, for what happened, forgive me Melisende, but the details are too gruesome to write down. I would rather tell you in person. Nobody knows exactly what transpired, I only know what they told me – all the Wardens dead, except for Anders, who is missing. The strange thing is, there were Templars there too, and all of them were also dead._

_We, who know Anders best, are all worried for him. I can't help but think, with his great love of freedom, well, could Anders have been responsible for the massacre? It is a little hard to fathom our comedian friend being capable of such a thing, but if Justice had anything to do with it as well… I just don't know what to think. As for Justice, he is a spirit, is he not? I am surprised he did not take a new body… Kristoff's was getting to be rather decayed and disgusting. So, what happened to Justice is as great a mystery as what happened to Anders._

_And so the Keep erupted into further chaos, leaderless and with countless rumors floating about. We (we being I, Sigrun, Velanna, and Oghren – when he was not drunk) did our best to keep order, to reassure the other Grey Wardens that the massacre was out of the ordinary, that nothing like that would happen again._

_And then the Orlesian Warden came. Clotilde Caron is her name. She came seeking an audience with Tristan. However, seeing the chaotic order of Ferelden's Wardens, hearing of the massacre on the plains, she took it upon herself to impose her will upon us all, taking control over the Keep. She even went so far as to declare Anders a fugitive. An error, I am sure, if there ever were one. I swear if Tristan does not return soon, __she__ will make herself Commander. I would not normally speak ill of a lady, but, for Andraste's sake, you both need to return home, and soon! She is driving everyone crazy._

_Now, I have gone on long enough. By the way, if you hear of Fergus being attacked by bandits, it is true, but lucky for him, I was there. He is fine. Sammy is fine as well, but he whines incessantly about missing his sword lessons._

_Please, come home soon._

_-Nathaniel._

…

_Dear Nathaniel,_

_I was so glad to receive a letter from you, but I must admit, it was nothing I ever expected. Anders is gone, declared a fugitive, really? Anders is a good friend. He is a good man, I cannot believe him capable of what he is accused of. Those poor Warden recruits, too. I even sort of feel sorry for the Templars, as odd as it was for them to be there. As for Justice, I don't know much about these things, but Tristan suggested that perhaps Justice found his way back to the Fade. I can only hope that whatever happened to Justice, he has found some measure of peace._

_Anders gone. I still cannot believe it. I smell another adventure. Yes, yes. I can see you frowning at me now. Do not fret. I am coming straight home, with, you will be happy to know, our beloved Commander. He __is__ our Commander. No Orlesian witch can take that away from him._

_I apologize for such a short letter, after the lengthy one you wrote, but I must prepare to leave. I will see you soon. I eagerly anticipate our reunion. _

_-Melisende._

…

_Brenna,_

_I never liked writing letters. I never liked writing anything at all. I avoided it at all costs. Words – meaningful words – don't come easily to me, whether through my hand guiding the pen or through my mouth. But this one time, I've made an exception, for you._

_I must admit, when I first saw you again all those months ago, you annoyed me. I can see you pouting right now, but please, keep reading. I don't want this effort to go to naught. I was still angry with you for stealing from me, both my innocence and an object of great meaning. Yes, I am man enough to admit that I felt used, horribly, but pleasurably, used, if that makes sense? Anyway, you surprised me. You offered me a place to spend the night, out of the cold. You treated me with kindness I did not deserve. I was a jerk and you knew it._

_Then we met again, unexpectedly, in Gwaren. We had fun, didn't we? But you knew I wasn't myself. You hovered over me with your concern and I brushed you off countless times. You saved my life and I still managed to mistreat you._

_Brenna, you amaze me. You had every reason to hate me that horrible day at the Dalish camp. Instead, you helped me realize how foolish I was being. Yes, a lot of things went wrong because of me, but a lot of it, too, was out of my hands. You helped me to see that I also did a lot of good, and that I could make amends for the wrongs._

_And then we were parted. I never got the chance to truly apologize to you. To speak of our connection – because Brenna, we do have one. If things had been different from the start, we might have grown up together, known each other our whole lives. As it is, I already feel like I've known you forever._

_I could go on and on about us, apologizing to you for everything, but I'd rather do that in person. So please, come to Vigil's Keep whenever you can. It could always use another merchant. And I would welcome having another friend around me._

_Er, my hand is tiring quickly, but no doubt you are wondering what happened with Siofra. One evening, not long after we arrived in Denerim, I came to her room, to check on her and I ran straight into a man. He was cloaked and as he fell back, his hood fell. When I think back on his face now, I realize that I have seen him before, when I was a child. Anyway, to my surprise, Siofra called out for me. She had awakened. The man left as soon as I turned my back. The man had healed her, had cast a spell on Ronan so that he did not remember him entering the room. Nobody noticed him entering or leaving the palace, except for me. His identity, his motives are gnawing at me, but for now, all that matters is that Siofra is alright. _

_I have included a letter here dictated to me by Siofra to Silas. I hope all is going well with the clan and that you have been welcomed there. I don't know when Siofra and Ronan will return to their clan, but Alistair has offered them to stay through the winter._

_I have droned on long enough. It seems the Keep has suffered in my absence. Just another consequence of my foolish wandering. But, I will not dwell on that. I will make amends. I am heading to the Keep very soon. Please come when you can._

_-Tristan._


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

The door slammed shut behind him. He carelessly tossed the bag of coin onto the table. It landed with a loud thud. The boss walked out of the shadows, his expression blank, but his posture straight and assured.

"Did you pay yourself already?" the boss asked as he unfastened the knot on the bag.

"That's your job," he icily replied.

Ignoring his cold demeanor, the boss reached into the bag, jingling the coins around. Removing his hand, the boss flipped the bag over and dumped the coins onto the table. When he was satisfied with what he saw, the boss picked up a few coins and regarded him with calm calculation. He shifted on his feet with calm fury as the boss considered the amount of coin to pay him. At long last, the boss decided to toss a few coins his way.

"Looks like all went well," the boss remarked as he caught the coins. Only a few silvers, a pittance for what he had risked in Denerim, but he kept his comments to himself. The boss gave him so little on purpose. That was the way he worked. Complaining would do no good. Instead, he grunted in reply to the boss's observation.

"You know the risks, yet you always want to go back there," the boss said. Where was the cruel bastard going with this? He didn't say anything. The boss studied him closely. He refused to show any emotion, but the boss knew him too well.

"No snide remark?" the boss asked, walking over to his side of the table, still scrutinizing him closely. He noticed that the boss became aware of the long cut on his forearm. He looked questioningly into his eyes. "Did something happen in Denerim?"

The boss questioned him not out of concern for his wellbeing; he knew that all too well. The boss only looked out for himself and his own interests. He had learned that the hard way.

"I saw her," he admitted. There was no use in hiding it. The boss would find out anyway. The dwarf would surely rat him out. That's the way it was in Llomerynn, every man for himself. Have enough coin, you could buy anything your heart desired – except for freedom, he thought to himself.

"You stupid fool," the boss quietly threatened him. He didn't flinch. "Did she see you?"

He shook his head. She hadn't seen him and though he had been very careful, there was one person that did see him. The Grey Warden. He wasn't sure if it mattered. He decided not to mention it. That was something the boss would never find out, unless he put him on the torture rack.

"Are you sure?" the boss provoked him further.

"I am sure. Do you doubt my words now, after over twenty years?" he replied, a little too angrily for the boss's liking, he was sure of it. However, the boss only flashed him a smirk and gripped the back of his neck tightly.

"Just remember this," the boss lowered his voice, a clear warning, digging into his neck, and zapping him, "You are no longer Rory Amell. You left that life behind. Just like I left mine behind. Get over it. Forget about her. We will never speak of this again. You know what will happen."

"Right, I know what will happen, _Dex_." Rory retorted with equal menace in his voice. He brushed away Dex's hand from his neck and turned to him with a hostile glare. "Blah… blah… blah. Your threats are getting old. I tire of them. Someday soon you will get what is coming to you."

Dex laughed. "You may hate me, but I'm all you got. You owe me. And don't you forget that I know all your little secrets. You think you would get far without me? I made you. Now, get out!"

Rory turned away from Dex. He had come to hate the man. All his life he had wanted nothing but to be free. Instead, every time he ran, he ended up making things worse. And now he was chained to this mockery of a life, and he didn't know how to break free. His threats against Dex would not be empty for long. Seeing Siofra again, it had reawakened something in him – a desire to live freely, to see her and his son again. He vowed to himself that somehow he would get out of this life.

"Oh," Dex called out casually as Rory opened the door, "I don't expect I'll be sending you to Ferelden any time soon. So don't get any ideas."

The door closed behind him. Bunching his fists he punched the door with a roar. All he heard was the sound of Dex's ruthless laughter. Yes, he would get away from here; one way or another, Dex wouldn't be laughing for long.

1


End file.
